Guardian Angel
by ZonateBiscuit
Summary: When you feel lost, you begin to pray. Charlie Crivens is lost, but she's not sure anyone can hear her. Castiel/OFC
1. Is That an Angel

"_I am good, but not an angel. I do sin, but I am not the devil. I am just a small girl in a big world trying to find someone to love." - Marilyn Monroe._

**1\. Is that an Angel, or are you just happy to see me?**

_**Date: September 20th, 2008.**_

_**Location: Sioux Falls, South Dakota.**_

The night was fairly clear. Cold moonlight searched out the dark crevasses of battered metal and glass piled up in _Singer Auto Salvage Yard_. Two women sat on the cooling hood of a car at the front of the main house. Somewhere in the distance a cat was having a very enthusiastic time with a partner. It sounded like an orgasmic fight to the death. The sheer volume of yowling was incredible.

_It's probably for the best, really,_ Charlie thought, jutting out her jaw in contemplation. Out of practice with long periods of social interaction, Charlie Crivens made awkward conversation when there was too much silence.

Curling her fingers further up under her armpits - the denim jacket a pathetic covering against the brisk night - to bring back some circulation to her fingers, Charlie tried to think of something to say. Normally, the silence of her companion would be blissful to her, but the woman had driven her all this way. It was only polite to say something while they waited.

Her companion sighed, adjusting herself to take out a cigarette from a crumpled pack in her pocket. The small cloud of breath curled upwards. "Should have left the radio on or something." Delicate fingers pulled out a flick lighter, and she lit up, pushing a chunk of hair to one side so it didn't catch on the burning end. With how much hairspray she must have used to keep it so elaborately styled, Charlie idly wondered if there was a fire extinguisher nearby.

Charlie, now derailed from her initial attempt at human interaction, ended up nodding and coming out with, "Did you know that there's a Hebrew legend where Noah asked God to help protect the food on the Ark from being eaten by rats? God made a lion sneeze, and viola," She gestured in the vague direction of the yowling, before quickly stuffing her hand back, "we have cats."

Hillary Jensen, family friend to Bobby Singer (and hence the reason Charlie was outside the man's house in the middle of nowhere) turned to give the shorter woman a familiar "where-do-you-come-up-with-this-shit" look. Charlie sighed. Under any other circumstance, she rather thought that that had been a good ice breaker. Apparently not. Shifting around the hood of the car to find a different spot, she mused, "There's always _some_ truth in legends. I wonder how much truth is in that one."

Hillary shook her head with a groan. Smoke billowed out and up before dissipating. Her blonde hair barely moved with her motions. Charlie wondered why people liked that look; rumpled morning bedhead. She had thought she had escaped out into the air to stave off the building headache from the smell of product, but it kept wafting in her direction. It was a sickening addition the the acrid smoke. "Good God**,** you need to get laid or something," Hillary said incredulously, "or find another hobby. All the way up here**,** you've said practically nothing except odd shit like that. Or nothing at all, which was rude. And a little creepy, just FYI."

Charlie shrugged, "Noted." She had tried.

"_All you can hope for after doing your best," her aunt Martha had said to her, after a lady in the grocery store had stared at her eleven year old self when she had starting talking about how long someone could last on canned food if there was ever an Apocalypse. "You be as kind and polite as possible. If they don't take well to that, then it doesn't pay to know 'em, darlin'. Now grab a tin of peas and toss 'em in." _

If Hillary didn't like the facts, that was fine, but there was no need to be rude about it. After a few minutes, the yowling stopped abruptly, leaving one of those awkward silences that only appear when two people were trying to ignore the sudden end of an embarrassing noise.

An hour passed, and Hillary began to restlessly pace to and fro in front of the car. She took out another cigarette, but didn't light it. Pulled her coat close around her. An annoyed sigh escaped. "I didn't think Bobby would be this late. He said to meet him here."

The shrill sound of a phone broke through the night air**.** Charlie twitched at the sudden noise, muscles tensing before she forced herself to relax. Thirteen years of Hunting and she still wasn't able to stop the reaction.

"Bobby? Yeah – No, we're here. You're what? No I – alright. You need help? Fine. Don't go dying on me summoning some crazy shit – No, no it's fine. I'll come in tomorrow if you're not dead. Oh don't be so surly, old man; you're the one going out of his mind - Oh for the love of – no, I'll head back to the bar and motel. Where's the warehouse in case – yeah. Alright. Got it. Okay call if you need to. Yeah, bye."

With a crunch of gravel under her boot, Hillary stopped pacing. She rolled her eyes at her phone before slipping it into her pocket and looking up at Charlie. "Stupid man. He and Dean are trying to summon whatever it was that brought Dean back from Hell. Load of bull, if you ask me. Said he didn't need help, so I'm heading back to town."

Tucking the unused smoke behind her ear, Hillary dug into her pocket for her keys and walked around to the driver's side of the car. It wasn't bad as far as cars went**,** but Charlie never really understood mechanics, nor did she particularly care. If it looked okay and functioned, that was fine with her.

"You coming?"

Charlie had no idea what was going on, so curiosity made her walk to the passenger side to reach in and collect her bag. "Nah. I'll wait here for a bit, just in case."

Hillary glanced up from fastening her seatbelt, and started up the car with quick turn of her wrist. Light flooded the yard before them, and the radio blared to life. Hillary lowered the sudden blast of rock music with a start, eyeing her companion. After a pause, she asked, "Are you sure?"

"Yeah. Thanks for the ride. I'll catch you whenever."

The blonde woman shrugged, having only known Charlie for as long as the drive from Wyoming to the scrapyard in Sioux Falls had taken. "Fair enough. You have my number if you need me. Don't need me. Ciao." Without a backwards glance, Hillary punched the gas and took off, Charlie stepping back quickly to avoid getting her toes crushed.

When the taillights faded, Charlie sighed. At least she wouldn't have to pander to the woman again for a while. Long drives with strangers were taxing. Hoisting her bag to one shoulder**,** Charlie turned in the direction of the warehouse. There was nothing like a walk in the dark on a clear night to put you at ease, before hanging out with two guys she had never met while they summoned some creature who'd pulled one of them out of Hell.

Great.

* * *

_**Date: September 20th, 2008.**_

_**Location: Sioux Falls, South Dakota - An abandoned warehouse down the road from Singer's Salvage Yard.**_

There was a gorgeous car sitting warm out front, but no sign of anyone in the immediate area. Charlie did a perimeter check anyway. When nothing seemed amiss, she approached the closed doors cautiously**. **A thin strip of light cut across the bottom. Shadows moved along it from the other side. Leaning in closer still**,** she began to hear shuffling, something that sounded like spraying**,** and varying tones of muttering. _Sounds like chanting. Or spellwork, maybe._ Resigned to the potential hostility she might encounter, Charlie knocked firmly on the door, and waited.

Everything quieted abruptly. The only giveaway? Their shadows shifting positions by the door. They were preparing for an ambush. Bracing herself, Charlie tried to adopt a fairly non-threatening posture. They could do anything, but Martha had vouched for Bobby Singer, and she wasn't going to ignore her aunt's advice.

The door flew open, and, after squinting at the sudden introduction of light, she could see two shotguns aimed at her head. Self preservation kicked in and Charlie raised her arms a little higher by her sides, palms out and fingers stretched wide. The strap of her bag slipped down to the crook of her arm**.** She bit back a curse. It would throw her off if she had to move quickly, but fuck it. She would deal with that when, and if, necessary. A nice, deep, slow breath to stay calm. Any movement other than surrender would only give the wrong impression. She was here to help, not get her face blown off.

"Hi," she said simply, smiling benignly in the hopes it conveyed a 'don't shoot me please' tone.

"Who are you, and what in the sam hill you doin' here?"

That one must be Bobby, judging by Martha's description. ("_Gruff, bearded and often pissed off if not drunk."_) He also matched the age she had expected. This, by default**,** made broody-with-a-hair-trigger Dean. Both men had steady aim and looked pissed. "I'm Charlie. Charlie Crivens? I came with Hillary."

Bobby's stare became, if possible, even more calculating and hard, eyes scrunching up to scrutinise her. Head to toe and back again, body never moving, arms and aim never wavering**,** and then he grumbled. "Crivens? Martha's niece?"

"Bobby, what the hell?" Dean grunted, maintaining his aim with a steady hand and giving a quick, incredulous glance at his friend. "Who is she and what the hell is she doing here?"

"Easy, guy," she murmured. He looked tense and exhausted. Strung tight, and alarmingly, aggressively distrustful. "Martha rang ahead last week. Sent me up to help, if you need it. And yes, I'm her niece. Though we're not related."

After Charlie's parents were killed at the hands of a Poltergeist, Martha (an old friend of Bobby's) had rescued her from foster care and, noticing Charlie's talent for learning quickly, she had decided to train her into their profession until she could go it alone. Martha hadn't hesitated to add her to the family, adopting her a year after saving her from the Poltergeist. Five years of training from the age of ten lead to Charlie hunting with the family, until she had turned legal age and took off on her own.

Finally**,** Bobby lowered his gun**,** but Dean wasn't so keen. "We gotta do this shit soon**,** Bobby. We don't have time for this."

"Take it easy**,** Dean. I'd forgotten she was coming until Hillary rang tonight. I've never met her - sorry, you - before, Charlie. Heard a lot of things. If it's all the same to you, though, I'd like Dean to run through a few tests before you help us. Just to be sure." He nodded once, gun still lowered but ready.

"Sure."

Although Dean seemed reluctant, he too lowered his weapon and moved off to get some things while Bobby kept watch. Five minutes later, Bobby was ruefully holding out a cloth, and Charlie wiped her face after the barrage of holy water, before pressing the cloth to the cut on her forearm.

"Didn't have to throw it so forcefully," she muttered at the back of Dean's head**,** but she soon ignored him when Bobby handed her a book of Sigils and spray paint while filling her in with a summary of what was happening. Once caught up, Charlie headed over to a wall to begin her artwork.

* * *

They had been waiting for hours now with no sign. Dean and Bobby were fairly relaxed on mismatched tables nearby**,** and Charlie sat cross-legged on a table she'd claimed near the back. It was the only clean spot where she could focus her mind. She had been making sure her mental barriers held for whatever was coming, but without a definitive idea, she had just spent the hours circling through the Monsters they had put Sigils up for. They had tried every spell they knew of. The fact that none of them were working was disturbing.

"You're not much of a talker," Dean commented. Eyes closed, Charlie could imagine him still playing idly with a knife and swinging his legs back and forth. He had been trying to get a rise out of her since the first hour passed with no show.

With a soft sigh of patience, Charlie opened her eyes to glance at him, hands moving from her knees to idly pick at the edging of the shotgun Bobby had lent her across her lap. "No," she agreed. She really wasn't. Ever since she was little, and had begun to see things that were not normal for a child to see, Charlie had kept to herself. Observant and silent was the only way to stay safe. Even among other Hunters. Especially among other Hunters.

"_It's not normal to see things that aren't there," her mother told her, when she was six and getting ready to go to a friend's birthday party. She_ _was brushing Charlie's hair with sharp, cutting movements. Charlie watched their pale features in the mirror. When she glanced down, she could just make out the purpling skin on her collar bone. Her favorite blue dress would cover it up, though before anyone could see. "If anybody or - God forbid, your father - hears you talking about it again, people will come and take you away. Do you understand? Jennifer's Auntie is gone from this world, now. The Devil took her away. All I want is for you to watch, listen and behave yourself, and don't talk about it. Understand?"_

_Charlie flinched at the pull of the brush catching on a knot and nodded. She didn't understand why her mother's tone was more sharp and unpleasant than Missy Derring down the road. Mrs. Derring was always nice to Charlie, and was gentle if she brushed her hair. Looking up to see a familiar darkness bleeding into her mother's skin, Charlie nodded. "Yes, Mama."_

Dean waited with expectancy, but Charlie just turned her head back and closed her eyes again. She could hear him huff. "Is she a hippie, Bobby? Are you a hippie?"

"No."

"Then why are you sittin' like that? That meditating stuff. Hippie crap."

Charlie frowned. "I'm concentrating."

"For what?"

"We don't know what's coming through that door. I'd rather be prepared."

There was a short silence, but it was Bobby who spoke and it was with a distinct air of confusion and skepticism. "How does that help?"

Charlie's shoulders slumped. Rubbing her eyes, she let out another sigh. "It just does. I don't normally do it because I usually know what's coming." Charlie had spent many years struggling against the things she could see. Focusing her mind allowed her to erect mental barriers to block some of it out. She had visited a Hunter in Japan once, only to see a Gashadokuro. There was no way she would ever be able to describe the sound of the hollow, foreboding ringing and rattling when the giant skeleton lumbered over her. They tended not to travel across the sea, thankfully, and they often wandered around with specific purpose, so it was rare that they would spot her. Charlie had spent an entire day ensuring she would never see one again, just to be safe. Without knowing what was coming for them now, she might get a shock of a grotesque face or form that might force her to be useless.

When she didn't say anything more, Dean rolled his eyes and gave up. He turned to look at Bobby. "You sure you did the ritual right?"

Charlie smiled at Bobby's expression.

"Sorry. Touchy touchy."

Charlie drew in a sharp breath when the hairs on the back of her neck and arms suddenly stood on end. The atmosphere shifted abruptly, turning cloying and thick. The roof began to rattle.

The men stood quickly, guns ready. Charlie tensed, eyes roving warily around the warehouse, but otherwise remained where she was. All the Sigils were lighting up like elevator levels, glowing and fading in various intervals. One glowed bright enough to make her flinch, before a splintered crack crossed it, rendering it useless. The sound was lost among the clamoring.

"Wishful thinking, but maybe it's just the wind."

There was no time to respond to Dean's ridiculous comment. A bulb above flared, cracked and sent a shower of sparks down over Bobby. The rest followed suit, one by one in no pattern she could discern. Charlie rose carefully from her perch, flinching when each of them shattered and popped. The Sigils changed, flared as one, and took up a more rapid flashing pace. She tightened her grip on her shotgun.

Something big was coming.

The atmosphere thickened even more. Charlie's ears rang wildly from the pressure. She fought the urge to hold her nose, feeling like her head was going to explode from the intensity. The wooden bar-lock on the door snapped in two, the door swinging wide to allow a burst of wind to rush in, surging forth to break through the atmosphere. Her ears popped.

Squinting against the flare of sparking lights and struggling Sigils, Charlie stepped back when a man strode in.

Only, it wasn't a man. Not entirely.

He looked like something conjuring a lightning storm. All around him static and light blazed and burst out, before some sort of… bright _thing_….some sort of glowing _being_ surged out of him like it was made from cresting waves and flashing shapes. It morphed and swirled into a fractal, bipedal configuration of - of - she didn't know what she was looking at. It hurt. There were spikes and horns and a twisted mask and long, thin fingers and it went up and up to the roof where the lights strained to capture its bare facade, before it curled in on itself to sink down into the man again. It happened once more, the glowing creature struggling, arching and twisting to stay contained. Something blue-white like starlight splashed out in long whips, spiralling with it's movements and Charlie could only imagine it looking like the thing was drowning but willing to dive back into it's man made cocoon.

Charlie swallowed when something dark unfurled out of his back.

"_Jesus,_" Charlie breathed, raising a hand in a futile effort to block it out. They were _wings. _

She hadn't been prepared for this. There was nothing that could have prepared her for this.

The exploding lights ceased**,** but Bobby and Dean began to fire. The man kept moving towards them without a care, it's second, glowing companion now more or less crowded around his body, if not trying to stay directly in it. Charlie couldn't move. Waves of… the splashing _something_ permeated the building, all exuding from this creature. Its wings remained free from the man; dark, enormous, and heavy, spreading out in a brief, stretched display. Without a doubt in her mind, she knew they were built for power; densely feathered and slow moving, curving to catch the sparks from the lights overhead. For a moment, she could see a multitude of colour, almost reminiscent of an oil patch before they and the being settled for what looked like the final time.

Shotgun forgotten, Charlie's arms lowered when the intensity of the light dimmed. When the bullets didn't seem to have any effect, Dean disregarded his gun to semi-casually pick up the knife he'd been fiddling with earlier. Every shot had hit the thing square on, but a sparking surge around the man just licked over the wounds as soon as they were inflicted.

The man turned, watching Dean with an impassive face.

"Who are you?" Dean asked. _No, _Charlie thought, _it should be 'what'. _What _are you?_

He, or perhaps, it, answered (because Charlie would swear the lightning storm of a creature was talking too despite its face - God, its face that wasn't really a face but glowing eyes and nothing else -), and the voice was… wrong. It was low, and resonated like the room wasn't big enough to contain it. _Out of sync, _she thought. A split second delay of someone speaking and the mouth catching up. "**I'm the **one that **gripped you tight **and **raised you** from perdition."

Dean turned slightly, keeping the man at his left shoulder, while preparing to throw his weight into his right. "Yeah, thanks for that."

The man almost-smiled, the expression not quite reaching the eyes, and the mouth twitching and head dipping for just a moment, before Dean lunged, stabbing directly into its heart.

He didn't even flinch. The knife was removed and dropped without care. Bobby, frozen for a moment like her, came to his senses and swung hard with an iron bar. Almost too quick to catch, the light creature opened it's giant, long fingered hand, the man's following suit a split second later until it gripped the bar without looking. Turning to face the older man, he pressed two fingers against Bobby's forehead. There was a small flash and Bobby dropped like a stone. The man-being watched him fall; the tilt of the head like a dog watching a mildly interesting toy drop to the floor.

Sinking further into the man again, the lightning storm for a being settled even more. Now it was a bare glow on the skin. A simple demand, "We need to **talk, **De**an.**" The voice was smoother now, catching up quicker than before but he, for Charlie could only think that's what it was now despite the two beings she could see, turned his head to look at her and finished, "Al**one**."

Charlie's eyes widened, and she distantly began to feel an ache in her muscles. The kind of ache that came with holding herself still for too long. The kind that when she trembled, it felt like coming back from a bad Hunt that had left her too close to her own mortality.

He moved more slowly than she would have expected, considering the speed at which he had incapacitated Bobby**.** Charlie backed away slowly. Cautiously. He matched every step until she hit a table edge. He was inches away, right in her personal space, nearly pressing against her. The beings face, under his skin, nearly featureless and feeling so very, very ancient, was terrifying. The flesh and bone of the man frowned a little, and the creature beneath frowned as well, the tiny crinkle in the… skin, creasing up.

For several long seconds, the stare never wavered. Charlie focused on breathing, on her free hand coming up to squeeze between them to press at his chest in a vain effort to push him away. She flinched at the spark that ran up her arms. The frown increased in intensity. He tilted his head at her, squinting his eyes as if looking for something. "You un**ders**tand the necessity **of** this." It wasn't a question, but it sure felt like one. Almost as if he wanted to confirm that she understood why he was going to make her go out like Bobby. "It is **im**perative that Dean an**d I **converse alone."

Charlie clenched her jaw, but eased up her pressure, and the grip on the shotgun, reluctantly. Nothing had phased this thing, so maybe giving in for now would be more beneficial until she could figure out what to do. If she could do anything at all. Without looking away from his strange gaze and arcing, galactic energy that hovered around them, Charlie put the shotgun on the table behind her with deliberate care.

This thing was something old, and powerful - she flinched at the appearance of his hand by her forehead, an old, instinctive reaction born of something else, and he was frowning again but continued until –

Charlie slumped, body limp. She was distantly thankful that she'd fallen against the leg of the table, propped up, unlike poor Bobby.

It took her a few seconds to realise she was awake. Paralysed somehow, but most definitely awake.

It took another few seconds to realise that the man-creature hadn't noticed. Eyes half-slitted, she could make out the straight line of the man's trousers, the dust covered boots, the very edge of his coat as he stood above her - but then he moved away to the other side of the table to… There was a gentle sound of turning pages above her. _Is he _reading?

There were several minutes of tense silence. Dean was out of her sight, at the far left, but he clearly wasn't going to start the conversation.

"Your **f**riends are aliv**e**."

It sounded like a veiled threat in one aspect, but the tone was more like a passing comment. Perhaps even a reassurance.

What followed in the next few minutes, was one of the weirdest conversations to which she'd ever been privy.

She was relieved to find that Bobby was fine, but unconscious, unlike her.

He was an _Angel._ Called Castiel. A fucking Angel called Castiel. _Isn't that the Angel of Thursday? _The Angel of Thursday was standing in a warehouse with three Hunters, two of which were incapacitated.

_Did all Angels look this way?_

Charlie struggled to move, to do _something_, when he spread his wings in a defiant posture towards Dean as proof. It was a very predatory move. All dominance display and grandeur, and Charlie wondered if Dean could see the him throwing out his energy to give the best effect.

The conversation moved on. He seemingly expressed regret about a woman called Pamela, whom he'd blinded when she had spied on his true form. He had warned her, but she had continued heedless, and beneath the light tone of regret, Charlie sensed his apathy regarding the woman's decision. Pamela hadn't listened, so her injury was no fault of his.

When he explained his appearance, Charlie was just as shocked as Dean to find out that he was possessing some poor bastard who had been devout and eager to go along with it. _Oh, _she thought, her mind stuttering to a grinding halt when she connected a few dots. _So that's the vessel. The man is the vessel, and the light thing is the….Right. Of course. That makes perfect sense. Because Angels apparently fucking exist and there's one just a few feet away reading a fucking book and my brain is still trying to figure out what he is._

Distantly, Charlie wondered if the vessel - _man_ \- had known what he'd be getting into. Having that thing fit inside you couldn't be comfortable. Or healthy. Of all the things Charlie had seen in her life, including Demons, Werewolves, Vampires and everything else, Angels had never occurred to her. He was the first Angel she had ever seen. At least to her knowledge. Childhood memories only went back so far.

_One problem at a time, Charlie._

Castiel claimed to have raised Dean from Hell at God's Command, and that was a lot of capital letters to take in one sitting.

Finally, and the most worrying of all, God apparently had work for Dean to do.

Charlie wished she could hit her head on the table for her stupidity. She shouldn't have listened to Martha about paying her old friend Bobby a visit to 'get out of her comfort zone'. She shouldn't have agreed to hitch a ride with another Hunter who knew Bobby and Martha**,** and who just happened to have been going out to Bobby's.

This sort of stuff smelled like Fate and Destiny. And Charlie had never been very good at that.

_A/N: Welcome to Guardian Angel. I began this over a year ago and it's unfinished (I'm still working on it), but I wanted it to see the light of day. My lovely beta has been helping me with this from the very start so it is much more improved upon than some of my other stories! Reviews, criticism, and even flames, are happily accepted, but are not necessary. I'm happy to just have people read and enjoy, but keep in mind; if you don't like it, just don't read it. I hope you enjoy the journey._

_ZeB xx_


	2. Witness my Witness

"_Basic human contact – the meeting of eyes, the exchanging of words – is to the psyche what oxygen is to the brain. If you're feeling abandoned by the world, interact with anyone you can." – Martha Beck_

**2\. Witness my Witness**

_**Date: September 20th, 2008.**_

_**Location: Sioux Falls, South Dakota - an abandoned warehouse down the road from Singer's Salvage Yard.**_

There was a moment of non-existence in which Charlie was sure she had passed out**,** and then there was a gentle press of fingers on her forehead. The brief contact of skin was surprisingly hot. She had to assume this was the Angel, but she didn't remember feeling the heat when he'd tried to render her unconscious earlier**.** With a stiff jerk and sharp inhale, she was able to move. Lifting her head slowly from the indelicate slump she'd fallen into, she came to witness the bluest, oldest, most ethereal eyes she'd ever seen.

An actual, living, celestial Angel. Or, at least, that's what he claimed to be.

He watched her for a moment, crouched with hands hanging limply between his knees and a tilted head**.** Too soon he turned his head to regard Dean and Bobby by the door, where they were arguing with wide gestures (Dean) and stiff movements in packing up a duffel (Bobby). The Angel's silence was confusing, and a little unnerving. _Am I supposed to say something?_ _Do something?_ _Does one thank an Angel for reviving you, even if the same Angel was the one to do it in the first place?_

_Is there Angel etiquette?_

Her mouth was tacky and tasted of something burnt. She opened it to say something – what, exactly, she wasn't entirely sure - but Bobby finally gave up talking to Dean and walked over (sans duffel). Charlie closed her mouth again.

"Are you alright, girl?" He hunkered down to give her a once over, placing a large hand on her shoulder to steady himself and her. "Sorry about leavin' ya lying there. _Some_ people," he shot an exasperated look at Dean, "drag you into an argument before you've even managed to remember where ya are."

Charlie nodded reflexively. "I'm fine." She licked her lips and looked away. "I'm good. Little lightheaded maybe, but good." Pressing her dirt-encrusted hands into the concrete, Charlie made to get up from the cold, ass-numbing floor. A sharp ache in her spine made her wince, but it was just from the indent of the table leg that had been digging into her back. Bobby stood, so did the Angel. Bobby tried to steady her, but she waved him off. Instead, she leaned back on the rickety wood to rest.

"Sure you're alright?"

A lone bulb that miraculously hadn't blown fizzed and flickered in one corner. Charlie looked at it and then to the Sigils on the walls. They were inactive now, even in the presence of the Angel, but she didn't know what that meant. Rubbing her gritty fingers off each other, Charlie turned back to him and nodded again. "Yeah, just… God and Angels, you know?" Even with everything she had seen, this was a subject that was hard to grasp.

Bobby blew out a breath and adjusted his cap, nodding in sympathy. "I know how ya feel. Don't know what in the hell that thing was, but it knocked me out cold, and not one of these Sigils did a damn thing. Just when you think you've got a handle on this job… Anyway, we're heading back to mine to get some rest and hit the books. You're welcome to come. Least I can do, since you just kinda fell into this."

"Pick up the pace, Bobby!" Dean called from the door, having retrieved another duffel of books.

"Yeah, yeah, hold your damn horses, boy! I'm on it." He looked back at Charlie. "Knowing Dean, we'll probably order pizza or somethin'," he added as incentive.

Out of the corner of her eye, Charlie saw the Angel to her right, standing close and watching the exchange with avid interest. "I could do with some pizza."

"Great. We're dumpin' this crap in the truck so grab a bag when you're ready and follow us out."

"Sure."

Charlie watched him walk to one of the last remaining bags to heft it up onto one shoulder. He grabbed a few books by the door before heading out to Dean. Glancing down at her hands, she tried very hard not to look in the Angel's direction when she began wiping off the grit and dirt on her palms. Her entire life had been one constant view of all things strange. Picking up what people could or couldn't see was almost second nature, so when Bobby had started talking as if the Angel wasn't in the room**,** she knew looking in the beings direction would allow _him_ to see _her_ and what she could do. Too many childhood memories of Monsters noticing her noticing _them_, was enough to deter her from even opening her mouth.

_Just don't look._

Moving to wipe the dust off the ass and legs of her jeans, Charlie grabbed the last empty bag and finished off packing the few items that were left: the remaining bowls and paraphernalia, a few knives, two boxes of salt rounds, and a book... which was beside the Angel.

He was watching her, head tilted slightly**, **hair wild like he'd been flying through a wind - _Well he does have _wings_, Charlie. Good deduction skills_. She sighed. She wondered if he was just playing with her. If he knew already and was just waiting for her to acknowledge his presence so he could call her out on her pathetic attempt at nonchalance.

There was a honk outside. Charlie flinched at the sudden noise. Right. Time to go.

Clearing her throat, she walked to the edge of the table, and stopped just shy of the Angel. He was taller than her by a few inches, and didn't seem to care that she was close enough to touch him. _Could_ she touch him when he was this way? Was he invisible, or veiled in some way? Bobby hadn't acknowledged him, and she wouldn't dare**,** but was it possible? A split second existed where she made a decision**,** and her hand reached out to palm the book, quickly slipping it into the bag. No. These things were best left alone.

"Curious." His voice was entirely unexpected. Charlie quickly dumped the bag up on the table to zip it closed to cover another flinch. A warm breath of air curled across her ear. "There is nothing noteworthy about her but she reacts... oddly." _Who's he talking to? Himself? Is he taking notes on the Human race? _

Another honk and Charlie gripped the dry, rough material of the bag and turned to walk quickly away.

Just as she reached the door, there was a sound like the heavy beat of a wing, followed by a brush of statically charged air. When she turned to look (in the pretense of making sure she'd gotten everything) the Angel was gone.

That was... odd.

* * *

The journey back was quick and fairly silent, Charlie having taken a ride from a gruff Bobby over an angry Dean. The sputtering heater was barely enough to combat the cold that had now set into her bones**,** but Charlie ignored her body's shivering. She'd had worse days, and her mind was still trying to grasp everything that had happened. She'd met an Angel. A goddamn, honest to God, Angel.

Castiel. The Angel of Thursday.

Reaching across to try and warm her numb fingers against the dusty heater, she wondered how important he was in the hierarchy of Angels to have come with a message like that for Dean. Was there a hierarchy of Angels? She supposed there was, according to the Bible, but how much of it was true? Maybe this one was only tasked with important things like giving messages from God on Thursdays. Was today Thursday? She couldn't remember.

The truck pulled to a stop**,** and Bobby apologized for the tense atmosphere of him silently brooding over the nights events**,** before hopping out and grabbing the bags from the back. Charlie shook her head with a dismissive smile and hopped out to help, shouldering her own as well.

"Don't worry about it**,** Bobby." She winked teasingly. "I'm a big girl. I can handle a bit of silence."

He smirked and nodded, before striding off into the house behind a boorish Dean. Charlie followed. Once through the door, Dean split off to head directly upstairs without another word. A murmur of voices drifted down the stairs**,** and she figured maybe Sam was there, which brought a question of where he'd been earlier.

"_They've had some trouble," Martha had told her, fixing up a sandwich for Charlie's journey with Hillary. Charlie, sitting on a kitchen chair watching her, wondered bemusedly why her aunt insisted on treating her like a child going off on a school trip. This wasn't the first, nor probably the last time, that Martha would pack her a lunch. "Those boys have been through a lot. When things get rough, they're always there for each other." _

Apparently not for things like summoning the thing that had pulled Dean from Hell itself. Why hadn't Sam been there?

When Bobby suddenly spoke, Charlie realized with a start that she'd been standing in Bobby's hallway, staring up at where the voices were coming from like an idiot. "Make yourself at home. Martha vouched for you somethin' fierce**,** so until you prove otherwise, I'd be happy to accept the help."

The older man turned through a doorway to another part of the house**.** Charlie followed dutifully. She entered a wide room filled with books, a fireplace, and a cluttered desk full of empty and half empty tumblers and bottles of whiskey. He dumped the bag he'd carried onto the floor by his desk and gestured to the couch. "You can take the couch for now**,** if you don't mind the odd lump**,** and help yourself to a beer."

He hesitated just before he sat behind the desk, glancing over to the kitchen adjacent to the room, wrinkling his nose. "Uh, help yourself to whatever's edible too. Perishables tend to be useless in this place since I move around a lot, but there might be something worthy until we get the pizza."

Charlie thought pizza sounded pretty amazing, rare as it was that she could afford it. She didn't make any remark about the canned food, since Bobby probably didn't realize how valuable it was to her, but she was grateful for his hospitality all the same. He finally sat to fill a glass with two fingers of a new bottle of Jack. Without further comment, he buried himself in a book.

Charlie cautiously avoided some of the stacks of books that looked ready to crumble or fall from their tentative piles. There was a lone trash can trying its best to fit six large empty bottles of various whiskeys in one corner. Eyebrow raising, but having no place to comment, Charlie just made her way to the couch. There, she gently lowered the bag of effects next to it, and then her own small duffel beside that.

"Oh! Here." Bobby held out a book about half the size of his own but twice as thick. It was the length of her forearm and entitled, _Angel Lore: What You Need to Know about Your Guardian Angels_ and looked like a cheap rendition of someone who had collected various ideas only to shove them into one book to earn money. Charlie looked up curiously.

Bobby cleared his throat and took a sip of his drink. "It's supposed to be 'modern', but since I figured you wouldn't be able to translate some of the stuff _I _can barely translate, we'll take what we can get. I thought Demons were hard**,** but this Angel business is new to me. If you're not too tired, give us a hand, and general rules of my house are this: don't touch nothin' you're not supposed to, unless I say otherwise, and we'll be fine. Believe me. Some of this shit _I_ don't even want to deal with sometimes."

Charlie sat with a soft thump and creak of springs from the old couch frame. "Alright," she said softly, long used to simple instructions.

Blending in had never been a problem for Charlie. There was never anything remarkable about her features. She was an average woman of twenty-seven, her dark hair cropped in a bob, a plain face, and she was usually wearing generic clothing consisting of jeans, boots, a t-shirt, and a jacket. Nothing stood out**,** and her quietness often made people forget she was in the room.

She should get along fine here if all she had to do was stay out of the way and help when she could. It was all she had ever done her entire life, just like her mother had taught her. Stay quiet, keep your mouth shut**,** and don't draw attention to yourself.

"_You'll be lucky if you manage to slip through life like a ghost. No one wants an unnatural child nosing into their life. They only cause trouble."_

"_Yes, Mama."_

At least it was warm.

* * *

They ordered the pizza, but Charlie didn't feel hungry. Instead, she poured over the books in vague disinterest. They were entirely useless, but she didn't think contradicting Bobby on his view of her lack of knowledge would get her anywhere. Overall, she had as much knowledge about Angels as he did. Pretty much fuck all. Didn't mean she couldn't read the more complicated stuff, but if someone had to go through the trashy side of the research, it might as well be her.

When the sun began to rise, Charlie rose for a glass of water and to stretch her legs. Her stomach rumbled a little, but she ignored it. Returning to the couch, she placed her glass onto a nearby table and began to tidy up the books to put them in what looked like the useless pile on the floor in one corner.

There had been very little text about any proof of existence of Angels other than references to old scriptures and writings that were not included in the modern books. The illustrations, however, were generally alike across the board. Nothing but human imaginings of glowing men or women with wings, robes, and a halo.

They looked nothing like the Angel-man. No halo or robes there, but he certainly had wings, and had looked…. well, she still couldn't pinpoint a description for him. There was no lore or written script that had ever alluded to an Angel looking like a carved, geometrical, bipedal conglomeration of light and energy. Outside of the odd shift in perception of the Angel, the man himself, the vessel, had looked perfectly ordinary.

Rhythmic, heavy thumping on the stairs heralded the arrival of Dean. The bleary eyed man moved with purpose past Bobby and Charlie with a brief murmur of, "Morning," before heading to the kitchen to see about breakfast. He found the leftover cold pizza he hadn't been awake for just as another set of footsteps followed, and in walked Gigantor.

"Morning, Bobby," Sam yawned, trailing after his older brother's wake. He stole a slice of pizza before sitting at the kitchen table. It too was covered in stacks of books, much like the rest of Bobby's house.

Charlie leaned around the edge of the archway to the kitchen carefully to take in the big guy. He was huge. Where Dean was stocky, Sam was almost equally so**,** but _taller__**,**_ and the hair... she tried to think good thoughts about the hair. There was something else there, too. Something just under his skin, but she'd never seen anything like it. Something swirling, and dark. Whatever it was, it vanished too quickly for her to grasp any further understanding, and she was getting a bit tired of seeing strange shit that she had no explanation for.

It took a few minutes and half a slice before he noticed her scrutiny. Startled, he paused and blinked at her. "Uh. Hi." He gave a little wave, eyebrows drawing down in confusion.

Charlie raised her own eyebrows, smiling politely. "Hi."

Another few seconds ticked by. "Who are you?"

"Charlie." She didn't really feel like making it easy. Before coming to Bobby's, and her brief stay in her aunts, Charlie had been alone for six months, Hunting on and off for the better part of the year until Martha had encouraged her to go visit her old friend. Conversation with Hillary had been hard and taxing, spending last night meeting strange Angels was bordering on her tolerance for interaction, so this? Yeah, this she didn't feel even remotely guilty for.

"Martha's niece," Bobby added, nose buried in yet another large book. He'd been making interested noises for the last hour that Charlie had been ignoring. He hadn't said anything until now, busy as he was reading, so she didn't think he minded.

"Martha's niece?"

"Martha Crivens," Dean finally added, poking suspiciously at the pizza and scowling. He had looked enthusiastic about it until Sam put his large paws on it. It had green bits. Potentially healthy bits. He squinted at it, curled his lip, and finally relented and got a plate. "Though they're not related."

"Oh. I didn't know Martha had a niece." He trailed off, seeming at a loss after that**,** so he went back to his pizza while Dean began anew about what they'd seen last night.

Charlie listened absently, sitting back down and grabbing another book for lack of anything else to do. The book was another 'modern' one, and had a purple and white cover proclaiming something about spiritual healing and communing with loved ones. Entirely useless crap that should be burned for warmth. In the kitchen, Dean was explaining his adamance that the Angel wasn't an Angel**.** Sam wasn't so quick to doubt. He ran through everything they had done and came to the simple conclusion that it couldn't be anything _but _an Angel simply because there was no other explanation available without more information.

Charlie could understand where Dean was coming from**,** but she'd spent the last six months hunting down Demons that were apparently released from Hell. If Hell and Demons existed, why couldn't Heaven and Angels? There was also no possibility that this Castiel guy _wasn't_ an Angel, she had proof in just _seeing_ him, but there was no way to explain how she was so certain without raising suspicion and doubt. Very few people knew about her ability to see things that others couldn't**,** and she'd like to keep it that way for as long as possible. Being a Hunter was already odd and hard to explain. She really didn't want to be an outsider in an already odd community of people in the world.

The boy's disagreement on what was real and not real was finally broken up by Bobby. "You two chuckle heads wanna to keep arguing about religion, or come take a look at this?"

Charlie got up to stand by the edge of the desk. Maybe a bit of quiet discussion might help. The boys were sullenly silent at the interruption but soon joined them.

"I got stacks of lore," Bobby started, turning the large book around to be viewed easily. "Biblical. Pre-biblical. Some of its in damn Cuneiform." He paused and pursed his lips. "It all says an Angel can snatch a soul from the pit."

Dean was quick to speak, but equally as quick to look at the drawing of the Angel. He frowned, rubbing pensively at his arm. Charlie watched him curiously. Had he injured himself last night? "What else?"

Bobby frowned. "'What else', what?"

"What else could do it?"

"Air lift your ass outta the hot box?" He leaned back and watched Dean. "As far as I can tell, nothin'."

There was silence for a moment**,** and Charlie took advantage to turn the book back around for a better look. The picture was of the typical view of an Angel she'd been coming across: a depiction of a white robed being reaching out to pull a man from the hell-fire below. Charlie frowned, running her fingers over the delicate page where the Angel's hand was grabbing the man. The illustration of scattering light made her wonder. Did they literally grab the soul? Was a soul in the shape of a person they could pull out of Hell**,** or did they tether it by some sort of celestial rope and drag it out?

She glanced up again to catch Dean at his arm. He startled at her scrutiny. With an uncomfortable attempt at nonchalance, he moved his hand away and down by his side. She carefully kept her face neutral. Did Dean remember? She didn't think so. Glancing at his arm again, she wondered if he was feeling residual effects of something suppressed. Like a phantom itch. If this thing had pulled him out, had he felt it?

"Dean, this is good news," Sam began, in what Charlie would consider an attempt at reassuring his brother.

Dean didn't look like he was buying it. "How?"

"Because for once, this isn't just another round of Demon crap. I mean, maybe you were saved by one of the good guys, you know?"

Straightening up, Charlie watched Dean internally fight with his own belief and what they'd found. "Okay, say it's true. Say there are Angels. Then what, there's a God?"

Bobby shrugged. "This point, Vegas money's on yeah."

Charlie decided to tread carefully. "Demons exist. Hell exists, we know that." Dean shifted uncomfortably, unable to meet her gaze. "Surely there must be a universal balance somewhere."

Dean huffed in disbelief, smiling at nothing as if he expected someone to tell him it was all a joke. "I don't know, guys."

Sam stepped in quickly. "Okay look. I – I know you - you're not all "choir boy" about this stuff**,** but this is becoming less and less about Faith," here he smacked his fist to his palm for emphasis, "and more and more about proof."

"Proof?"

"_Yes_."

"Proof that there's a God out there that actually gives a crap about me, personally? I'm sorry**,** but I'm not buyin' it!"

"Why not?"

Dean suddenly had this look of a person who had lost his way**,** only to find some unknown person to point it out. _What would the person want in return?_ Charlie suddenly understood that he was waiting for the catch**,** and how do you find out the catch from God?

"If there is a God out there, why would he give a _crap_ about me?"

"Dean – "

"I mean, I've saved some people, okay? I figured that made up for - for the stealing and the –the chicks but why do I deserve to get saved? I'm just a regular guy!"

_Castiel was right, _Charlie thought in quiet realization remembering the confused, quiet words of the Angel last night. _Dean didn't think he deserved to be saved_. Sam sighed and looked at his doubting brother. "Apparently**,** you're a regular guy who's important to the man upstairs."

Dean looked at all of them and finally said, "Well**,** that creeps me out. I mean, I don't like getting singled out at birthday parties**,** much less by – " he laughed incredulously, "God."

"Well too bad, Dean 'cause I think he wants you to strap on your party hat."

After a moment, Dean finally relented at his brothers words and cleared his throat with a resigned air. "Fine, what do we know about Angels?"

Sam looked at Bobby**,** and Bobby looked at all of them before raising his eyebrows and reaching to his right to grab a small stack of books. He thumped them down. "Start readin'."

There was a moment of silence**,** and Charlie took a breath before glancing at the kitchen. She'd need tea, food, and a bathroom break before tackling this.

"You're gonna get me some pie," Dean demanded, pointing a finger at his brother, before snatching up the topmost (and smallest) book from the pile and storming off.

Charlie's stomach grumbled loudly**.** Sam and Bobby looked at her in surprise. She cleared her throat. "Uh, I have money if you're going for pie."

Sam smiled, nodding. "Yeah, sure. I'll make a run for all of us."

Charlie nodded. Sam strode off somewhere, Dean bustled about in the kitchen, and Bobby grumbled nonsense. Charlie leaned over by the couch to rifle through her bag. Finding her lucky wallet, she opened it to thumb out some notes. The dark brown leather was soft (if a little torn in places) and the color had faded slightly at the corners and creases, but it had held surprisingly well over the years. She'd gotten it as a thank you gift from a woman she'd saved from her Werewolf husband, and Charlie was reluctant to part with it. Sam returned with keys and his own wallet to ask Bobby what he wanted for breakfast**.** Charlie curled away a little to make sure they couldn't see what she was doing.

Living alone had always been difficult. Charlie had never been good at cards, and she didn't have the heart to hustle people like some of the other Hunters did**,** so money was hard to come by. Jo called her a survivor**,** and Ash called her a soft-hearted loon (they were the only two that knew she barely scraped by). To make up for her woeful social skills, Charlie picked up the odd jobs that people rarely bothered with like Charm forging and actual, manual labor in factories and tiny Hunter shops that dotted the country. She didn't like people to think she never had money**,** even if she was only down to a few coins for a vending machine.

Counting carefully, she decided she could splurge on a slice of pie this once. She wouldn't be able to afford a breakfast, but the cold pizza would be fine.

"You alright?"

Charlie felt a little jolt in her stomach. Sam was behind her. She hadn't even heard him. Turning with a polite smile, Charlie handed him a five dollar bill. "Anything but lemon is fine, thanks."

Sam smiled in bemusement, and there was a tiny moment where she thought he would say something about her reaction, but he only looked confused. "Is that all you want? Just pie?"

"Yep."

He regarded her for another moment, but eventually nodded, taking the note and heading off to grab his jacket and the keys to the Dean's car.

"Don't forget the pie!" Dean called from his spot in the kitchen.

"I won't!"

"Pie!"

"Alright!"

The door shut firmly and they could hear the heavy roar of the Impala fade. Charlie stuffed her wallet back into her bag and quickly went for her bathroom break. When she finished, just before she left the small room**,** she glanced up to see her reflection in the mirror while drying her hands. Her features were pale**,** and the circles under her eyes were quite dark**,** but it wasn't the first time she had looked so haggard. There was research to be done**,** so she turned away and made for the kitchen to boil the kettle, ignoring the thoughts of potential sleep.

While it warmed up Charlie went hunting for cups and a teabag and listened as Dean called - what she could only assume from the conversation - Sam. "Dude, don't forget the chips. And the pie. The pie is important, Sammy. This is going to be a long-ass day. Alright, fine. Okay, bye."

Finally finding everything, Charlie threw in the tea bag and poured herself a cup, and took a carton of milk from the fridge. "He's only been gone ten minutes."

"Doesn't matter," he grunted, flipping through the pages of the small book and frowning. Charlie could understand. It looked about as useless as most of hers had been.

She sniffed the milk and gagged. "Jesus, Bobby. How long has this been sitting here?"

Bobby scowled at her across the room, but said nothing. She wrinkled her nose and sighed in resignation. She'd have to have black tea. She hated black tea. "Text Sam to bring back some milk, would ya? I don't think I'll survive without it."

She grabbed the pizza box and cup and walked towards Dean. There was no way she was going near Bobby's old books with black tea and cheesy pizza. Dean glanced up and watched her before shoving aside a load of books to make room across from him.

"Thanks."

He hummed, returning to his book, but not before taking out his phone and sending a text to, what she hoped, was his brother. They sat in silence for a while, Dean reading and Charlie eating with the odd grimace after a sip of tea.

"Why do you drink it if you don't like it?" Dean finally asked, tossing his book aside without care.

"I don't like waste," she answered simply. It was true**,** but there were two reasons for it. It was ingrained into her by her parents**,** and she simply couldn't afford it. There had been many days where being penniless reached new heights.

Nearly an hour passed**,** and Charlie was about to grab another book when Bobby came in to the kitchen on the phone. Her and Dean watched him pace before he leaned tiredly against the counter. After a minute of silence**,** Bobby hung up and sighed. "I don't like this."

"What's up, Bobby?" Dean asked.

Bobby adjusted his hat before running a hand down his face. "I've been trying to reach a friend of mine since we started this Angel crap**,** but she ain't answerin'. I'm getting worried somethin's up."

"Well if you want to check it out, I'll hold down the fort. I could use a break and a shower anyway," Charlie said, standing to stretch her back and legs. Another couple of hours on the road weren't going to agree with her. And shower. Shower good.

Bobby nodded. "Not a bad idea."

Dean nodded, standing to stretch as well. "Sam should be back any minute now. I'll give you a hand."

Dean moved with purpose down the hallway for his jacket**,** and Bobby regarded Charlie pensively. "We'll call if anything's up**,** and I don't know why I'm saying it, but there's a panic room in the basement should you need it. Just in case."

Charlie let her arms fall to her sides and frowned. "I really hope you haven't just jinxed me, Bobby."

He shrugged helplessly. "Precautions."

With that**,** he left to follow Dean. Charlie took quick advantage of their absence by grabbing her bag and heading upstairs to have a shower. No men in the house, an actual _house_ to herself and a hot, pressurized shower sounded like Heaven.

* * *

Clean, fresh, and dressed in her only alternate set of clothing (jeans and a t-shirt) Charlie made her way back downstairs to see what else she could tackle. Dumping her boots and bag by the couch, she grabbed a heavy**,** thick tome and settled in.

Half an hour later**,** she was fighting yawns every minute or so**,** and within another ten minutes she was asleep.

* * *

Something woke her.

Eyes opening on a slow inhale, Charlie stared at the ceiling quietly. On her exhale, a cloud of breath curled upwards. Always having problems with sensing the cold, Charlie tried to assess the possible threat that had her on edge. There was something in the house. Flicking her gaze around the room, she noticed lights were straining, a low humming buzz tickling her ear. Wide awake but cautious, she could make out the previously dormant old radio in the kitchen flickering through static.

She called out a soft, "Bobby?" The radio startled her into sitting, the sharp volume change brief and loud**. **

Ghost.

Where the hell had it come from? There had been no evidence of Ghosts in Bobby's house earlier, and the lights and radio hadn't been on when she had fallen asleep**.** Either the Ghost was messing with them**,** or Bobby and the boys had come back and the damn thing had managed to follow them. Maybe they snagged something by accident…

No one was in the room with her. No Ghost, and no boys.

The radio died abruptly. The resulting silence was disconcerting.

Standing, Charlie looked for a useful weapon, annoyed with herself that she hadn't mapped out Bobby's house more thoroughly. Her gun was handy, but without knowing more, it was too dangerous with potential friendly fire on the others. Roving her eyes quickly over anything usable in the library, Charlie eyed a poker rack by the fireplace. One was missing. Numb fingers wrapping around the base of another, Charlie swiftly and silently moved from room to room.

She had just made it to the main hall when she spotted Bobby by the stairs. Ready to call out to him, she stopped at the odd, rhythmic thumping coming down the steps. She tensed at the sudden appearance of two young girls behind him. Bobby seemed to feel them because he turned and froze, before his instincts kicked in and he swung wide to disperse them. He had the other poker, which probably meant he'd taken it on a whim so the Ghosts were unexpected. That still left a lot of questions.

Giving him a wide berth, Charlie made her footfalls purposefully loud, bare feet slapping on the wood. "Bobby."

He jumped, pulling back to swing again and stopped. "Christ, Charlie! Don't sneak up on a man like that."

"Sorry," she said, keeping her eyes alert and her own iron bar ready by her side. She frowned. "What the hell is going on?"

He glanced around nervously and gritted his teeth. "Ghosts are tearin' up Hunters**,** but I don't know why."

"What kind of Ghosts?"

He suddenly couldn't look at her**,** and Charlie frowned. "What the hell is going on, Bobby? Who were those - "

"Look out!"

Something hit her side. She was launched down the hall, iron bar skittering off into the kitchen.

The impact robbed her breath. "Holy... _fuck_," she gasped, pushing herself to sit up as quickly as possible.

"Stop, please," she heard Bobby plead. "I didn't – no, don't!" The clatter of his own poker hitting the floor alarmed Charlie but suddenly there was something – _someone_ – pressing her down into the floor. She looked up to see a face she had hoped to never see again.

"What have I told you before, you stupid bitch? I'm gonna have to tan your hide!"

Reginald Taylor, sickly grey in complexion with dark circles under manic eyes, leaned forward to breathe across her face. Charlie cringed at the familiar stench of alcohol. His hand, large and calloused, pressed further down on her throat, grip just tight enough to be uncomfortable. Dressed in the same t-shirt, jeans and worn red shirt he'd died in, he bared his rotten teeth in a snarl before he jerked her up off the floor.

Charlie kicked frantically at him, hands gripping his thick forearms in an effort to anchor herself to get away. He laughed. "See what's she's become, Jane? Your little whore didn't keep quiet like you taught her. I knew you were useless!"

Behind him in the doorway, a familiar pale face frowned at her. Like the man, she too wore the clothing she had died in; a pale blue dress with an apron dusted with flour and flat white shoes.

"You should've have listened," the woman rasped, with a nasty curl of her lip. "I warned you about opening your damn mouth, girl."

Reginald squeezed harder for a second more. Charlie wheezed at the pressure, feeling the muscle and bone crackle and grind and then she was across the room. A deep gasp for air was rendered useless when Charlie slid into the cupboard with a sharp snap of wood. She choked on a groan. Back aching and throat burning, Charlie forced her eyes open. _Where's the poker?_ There! Glancing back at the Ghosts of her parents, Charlie yelped when her father flickered and reappeared at her feet. She lunged for the poker, just as he grabbed her leg to yank her backwards. Her fingers closed around the metal, and she spun awkwardly to swing at his arm. He vanished**.** Uncooperative and ungainly at the shocking struggle, Charlie shoved her legs under her to stand as steady as her body would allow.

A horrible wheezing issued from her ruined throat when she came face to face with her furious mother. She swung quickly, reflexively, before the Ghost could do or say anything, and then bolted to where Bobby had been.

"Bobby!" He wasn't there. _Shit shit shit_. What now?

"_Girl!_" The roar was too familiar, too close. A frisson of fear crawled up her spine, and she willed the panic away -

_Panic! Panic room!_

"Sorry, Bobby," she muttered, running for the basement. She didn't get far. A strong grip on her hair and she suddenly flew through the air again to land at the bottom of the stairs. The poker skittered away from her, out of reach entirely and she gargled feebly when he grabbed her neck to lift her off the floor. Slamming her back against the bottom steps, she cried out.

"You're mine now. And I have _years_ of punishment to dole out," Reg said, "starting with a little flying lesson." He reared back and threw her up to the landing. Her head cracked against the wall -

* * *

The morning sun was starting to creep through the small window in the bathroom**. **Charlie groggily turned her face away from the light.

"Ah, ah," Reg said mockingly. Rough hands turned her head back, tilting it just right before he backhanded her. Her neck whiplashed, her cheek striking the side of the bath. She grunted, the pain constant enough now that it barely registered as new. "There was a time where you used to pray for the light of day when I had you like this, only now it won't be your savior. You're not a child anymore, Charlie. I can beat you to my dead heart's content."

Charlie groaned, swallowing the bitter metallic taste of her own blood.

"This is your fault," her mother whispered from her perch on the toilet. This was a familiar sight, though Charlie hadn't seen it in many years; her father above her doling out his 'punishment' for her 'sins' against God, with her mother watching, unwilling – she used to think unable – to do anything.

This 'punishment' had been going on for hours, and Charlie had given up hope of being found. In the hours since Bobby had vanished with his own Ghost problems, her father had taken his belt to her back and legs while her mother had held her down, they'd nearly dislocated her shoulder while tying her up with the belt, and they had broken several fingers of her left hand. She had honestly expected worse, but when she thought about it, this had been terrifying for a seven year old Charlie to endure. As an adult and a Hunter, what they were doling out wasn't as frightening as it had been in the over exaggerated childhood memories. They had spent hours trying to emotionally taunt her, accusing her for having a hand in their deaths. She had been beaten to the point of unconsciousness, and when she was tipping over into the black, they had dunked her head in the filled bath to revive her.

Her right eye was swollen shut, her jaw ached, and her back burned. The muscles in her left shoulder were screaming in pain against the bond of the belt binding her hands behind her back, and her head throbbed severely.

A rough hand lifted her chin to gently press the back of her head against the wall. She opened her only functioning eye, blearily making out the shape of her mother. "S'not my fault," Charlie mumbled.

"Oh, but it is," Jane said firmly, a quiet fury burning in her eyes that Charlie had rarely seen. There had been a time where things had been normal, nice even. Her mother had doted on her when she behaved herself, and her father kept a cool head, but then Charlie had started to talk more about her ability, and her mother had felt less inclined to defend her when it became obvious that Charlie was humiliating their family. Her father had turned to drink, and her mother had begun to resent her. "You were a _mistake_. A terrible, awful mistake."

Charlie swallowed the bitter taste of clotted blood. _Don't listen to them, _she thought. _They're dead. You escaped this. It's not your fault. It never was._

"We never wanted you," Jane continued. "You caused nothing but trouble. Seeing things that aren't meant to be seen, and then sending your own grandmother - my dear husbands _own mother_ \- to kill us. Your sins against God have to be punished."

"No," Charlie denied. She had asked for her Nana's help, but not that. Never that. How was a nine year old supposed to understand vengeful spirits? The Ghost of her Nana had been kind. Her _parents_ had made her vengeful. Charlie understood that now.

"Please," her mother scoffed, leaning forward to dig a false nail into Charlie's cheek hard enough that she whimpered. The chipped accessory split the skin under her eye in a slow drag. "You were an ungrateful child. Always wanting attention, making up stories. I used to think you really saw them, talking about Angels and the like, but then you started seeing other things like Ghosts and Creatures, and I knew you were lyin'. You weren't worthy enough of seeing God's Heavenly creations, and it wasn't right what you were doin'. It was blasphemy, and people began to talk. They began to see us differently because you were a freak. It wasn't _normal_."

Jane moved away, and Reginald took her place again. His face was blank but Charlie could see the gleeful anger in his eyes; his grateful thought of justice being served to the one who had wronged them. Charlie didn't have the energy or the will to fight him when he calmly put his hand around her throat. She was still trying to sort out the information that her mother had just given her.

Charlie had spoken about Angels when she was younger. _She had seen them before_.

Jane spoke, while her husband slowly tightened his hand until Charlie couldn't breathe. "You should have just stayed quiet. Even God made a mistake with you. Now you're a freak even among freaks. You're a nobody. An unworthy nobody."

The burning pain began to fade, the dark creeping into her senses from her lack of oxygen. She was going to die.

_Help me._

_Please._

* * *

Air rushed back into her lungs so fast that she coughed violently, which drew a violent noise from her raw throat.

"Easy. Take it easy." Was that Bobby? It sounded like Bobby.

"What did they do to her?" That was Sam, she thought. He was quiet, voice soft and accusing. He sounded far away. Was he by the door? Down the hall? Her face hurt.

"Who the hell were those people?" Dean was closer, his voice on the other side of Bobby. He sounded angry. Quiet also, like his brother, only it felt heavier. More feeling. Her head hurt.

Bobby hesitated. "I think I have an idea, but I can't be sure."

Charlie groaned. Her head was throbbing and her throat was killing her and her shoulder and hand - she yelped when the belt was removed and blood rushed back into the area.

"Shit, sorry," Dean said. "Probably wrecked it, the bastards."

"Sam, get me a sheet or somethin'. We'll need to get her downstairs, and I ain't moving that shoulder any more than I have to."

A few minutes and some blindingly horrible pain later, Charlie was awake, dry (Dean had helped her change with that same, quiet intensity that had Charlie staring at him curiously throughout), dazed**,** and thankful for the sheet-sling Bobby had wrapped her in to keep her shoulder as immobile as possible. Dean was her support down the stairs**,** and it was slow going**,** but she had refused him carrying her.

"M'not a damsel," she'd mumbled through a swollen lip, "and you're not a Prince. Won't work that way."

"I could be a Prince," he protested.

She shook her head dismissively, aiming for the stairs. "Too broody. Not 'nough flamboyance." He snorted, but followed quickly lest she tumble down them.

Once she was settled on the couch with an icepack on her head, a pack of frozen vegetables soaking her shoulder, and her fingers taped up, the boys started chatting about what was going on. They'd had a brief discussion about bringing Charlie to a hospital, but she refused, insisting that she had suffered worse. The Ghost problem had to come first anyway. They weren't normal**,** so going out in the open now wasn't the best idea.

Charlie tried to pay attention to the conversation**,** but the pain was severe. The bits she got allowed her to understand that the Ghosts were people they didn't save. Charlie frowned and adjusted the pack to cover her eye. She knew her guilt over her parent's death was strong**,** but it was limited to the guilt of being responsible for a death itself, and not their death in particular. They had been terrible people, and they deserved it, but at the time, she hadn't understood what she'd done in asking her Nana for help. That guilt had stayed with her for years.

She hadn't wanted to save them.

They mentioned a mark. Sam drew it out, but she didn't remember seeing one. In retrospect, she had also gotten a thorough beating. Looking for marks hadn't really been a priority.

"I may have seen this before," Bobby said, turning to get some books. The lights flickered and buzzed. Charlie groaned.

"We gotta move. Follow me."

"Okay, where we going?"

Bobby paused, and Charlie opened her good eye to watch him give Sam a funny look. "Some place safe, ya idgit."

Dean nodded and stood, readying the shotgun he had in his right hand as he looked to Charlie. "Alright. Up we go." He pulled her up by her good arm and hooked his own around her waist to keep her steady. He grimaced when she had no choice but to place the ice pack with her hand on his shoulder, but they had to move quickly.

Down more stairs and at the back of the basement, they stepped into Bobby's panic room. Dean placed Charlie on the cot to one side before he and his brother looked around. The place was built to last and had everything a Hunter could want on hand, but a brief glance was all Charlie could manage before her head protested.

With a grunt, she ignored them and turned slowly to lie back on the cot to rest. She woke up to Dean's voice some undefinable amount of time later. _Must have passed out. _

"See, this is why I can't get behind God," Dean was saying.

"What are you talking about?"

"If he doesn't exist, fine, bad crap happens to good people. That's how it is. No rhyme or reason, just random... horrible... evil... I get it. I can roll with that, but if he _is_ out there, what's wrong with him? Where the hell is he while all these decent people are getting torn to shreds? How does he live with himself? Why doesn't he help?"

Charlie grunted and opened her eye to watch the ceiling fan. The silence was pregnant**,** and Bobby finally relented with, "I ain't touchin' this one with a ten foot pole."

"God's a dick," Charlie said, her voice rasping in the quiet. Another silence followed, so she continued before she lost her nerve in sharing thoughts she hadn't had since she was a child, when she had realized that no Divine help was coming for her, and that maybe it never would. "I always had an image of a man with a wind-up toy. He made it, and he's proud of it, and he winds it all the time. It sputters and makes mistakes and turns in the wrong direction, so he guides it carefully, subtly**,** until one day - he doesn't. One day he just gets bored. Because, let's face it; if God is omnipotent, then he knows everything. Like, everything, everything. So he winds it up one last time, and sits back and waits. There's no guidance anymore. This being probably created complex life with a thought. To him, we could just be ants on a hill. Nothing important, just little insects scurrying around trying to make the best of what we have. Maybe he just stopped caring, or never cared at all."

Worried that she'd said too much, Charlie frowned and put the ice-pack back over her eye, blocking the rotating fan. The last time she'd said something like this, people had given her a wide berth and she'd had to leave town for fear of becoming too noticeable to do her job.

Sam finally broke the silence with one, quiet question. "Who were those people upstairs?"

Charlie sighed. "My parents. And no, I don't feel guilty about not saving them. The people who torment _you_ were once decent people. My parents were tyrants and bullies. I feel guilt that I was indirectly responsible for taking their lives**,** but I don't regret not trying to save them anymore**.**" She cleared her throat and grimaced at the pain. "Uh, I just wanted to make that clear. Sorry. Just ignore me, I'm in a lot of pain and still a bit dazed."

Bobby came to the rescue. "Found it."

* * *

Charlie reeled at the information Bobby proceeded to share. She had thought Angels and Demons were one thing**,** but the damn Apocalypse?

_This is insane._

They spent the next few minutes devising a plan to get rid of The Witnesses**,** but Charlie couldn't help, hindered as she was by her injuries, so Bobby told her to stay in the panic room. If they didn't come and get her in fifteen minutes**,** she was to take anything she wanted and get the hell out if she could.

Charlie sat up with a little help from Bobby, and nodded. He passed her a .22 pistol with salt rounds, for lack of an arm to handle a shotgun, and got his own. He joined the boys at the door. They cautiously stepped out and began their journey upstairs. Charlie waited.

Over the course of five minutes**,** she could hear the odd shot fired but there was no frenzy yet**,** so she cautiously moved to the door, less dazed and more alert with the focus of adrenaline. She wouldn't be able to open the door and fire her gun**,** but she was ready to move if necessary.

Another five minutes passed**,** and now there _was _a frenzy. The shots were faster, and the whole house seemed to bang and rattle.

And then there was silence.

She had three more minutes.

Two.

One.

There was a rush of footsteps on the stairs. Charlie readied her gun.

"It's me," Dean reassured her through the door, before he swung it open and Charlie sagged, arm dropping to her side. "It's done. We're good. Come on, we need to get you upstairs to pump you full of drugs."

* * *

Charlie dozed fitfully. The drugs helped**,** but everything ached and the chair wasn't helping. Sam had taken the couch for now, being the longer body out of all of them**,** and Dean had opted to take the floor to give Charlie the armchair. It was a nice gesture**,** but it didn't help. Although the swelling had come down from her eye and she could open it a bit, her shoulder was hard with muscle spasms, and still wrapped tightly in the sheet-sling.

Her throat still burned**,** and she'd already gone through two glasses of water. Maybe it was time for tea and honey. She wondered if Bobby had honey, and had Sam gotten the milk? He'd forgotten the pie, she remembered, but her mind was fuzzy on everything else. Tea with maybe-honey and no milk. Her throat itched, so she decided it was worth the look.

It would also give her something to focus on. Old memories were creeping in during her bouts of sleep. They were enough to have her twitch and sweat, waking suddenly with soft gasps and darting eyes.

Closing her eyes against the pain to come, Charlie sat up slowly. After a moment of taking in the dark and quiet of the house, she stood. With a sigh, she shuffled quietly towards the kitchen, but stopped abruptly at the sound of a voice.

"Excellent job with The Witnesses."

That same wrong voice from before, only it wasn't wrong anymore. It resonated better than the booming, out of sync voice he'd had at the warehouse. This was the Angel. Castiel.

"You were hip to all this?" That was Dean. Dean was up? Glancing back to his bed, she was alarmed to see Dean resting exactly where he should be resting.

Was she going insane? What was going on? Had she taken too many painkillers?

"I was, uh, made aware."

At a loss, Charlie shuffled closer still, secreting herself to one side of the entrance to the kitchen. She couldn't look for fear of being caught, but she could listen.

"Well thanks a lot for the _Angelic_ assistance," Dean whispered harshly. "You know, I almost got my heart ripped outta my chest."

"But you didn't." _Is this guy serious?_ She'd been beaten senseless. Where the fuck had he been for her?

"I thought Angels were supposed to be guardians. Fluffy wings, halos. You know, Michael Landon. Not dicks."

This had to be some sort of auditory hallucination, and who the hell was Michael Landon?

The Angel didn't respond for a moment and then, "Read the bible."

Right. The Bible said Angels were dicks. Charlie leaned on her good side against the wall, resting her head on the textured wallpaper.

"Angels are warriors of God. I'm a soldier."

"Yeah, and why didn't you fight?" Dean's tone made Charlie frown. It was quietly accusing. Was he accusing an Angel of being a coward?

"I'm not here to perch on your shoulder. We had larger concerns."

Oh, that couldn't be good. They all nearly died from Witnesses that proclaimed the rise of the Apocalypse, and the Angels had larger concerns?

Dean's voice became harsher, his judgement cementing further. "Larger concerns? There are people getting torn to shreds down here!"

The Angel said nothing.

"And by the way, while all this is going on, where the hell is your boss, huh?" _Oh God, Dean. Don't say stupid shit now, _she thought. "If there is a God."

Charlie rolled her eyes Heavenward. Idiot.

The Angel was adamant, and his tone turned sharp. "There is a God."

Dean was quick. "I'm not convinced, 'cause if there is a God, what the hell is he waitin' for, huh? Genocide? Monsters roaming the Earth – the freakin' Apocalypse? At what point does he lift a damn finger and help the poor bastards that are _stuck_ down here!?"

"The Lord works – "

"If you say 'in mysterious ways' so help me I will _kick_ your ass."

Charlie listened with bated breath. What was going on now? It was too quiet.

"So Bobby was right? About The Witnesses. This is some kind of, uh, sign of the Apocalypse?"

"That's why we're here. Big things afoot."

"Do I want to know what kind of things?"

"I sincerely doubt it**,** but you need to know. The rising of The Witnesses is one of the sixty six Seals."

"Okay, well I'm guessing that's not a show at Sea-World." Charlie shook her head at his childishness.

The Angel ignored him. "Those Seals are being broken... by Lilith."

"She did the spell," Dean realized. "She rose The Witnesses."

The Angel hummed in agreement. "And not just here. Twenty other Hunters are dead."

"Of course. She picked the victims the Hunters couldn't save 'cause they would barrel right after us."

"Lilith has a certain sense of humor."

"Well, we put those spirits back to rest."

It didn't matter, Charlie thought. That probably didn't negate the fact that the Seal was broken already. The Angel confirmed this.

"Why break the Seal anyway?"

The Angel took a breath, "You think of these Seals as locks on a door."

Charlie didn't like where this was going.

"Okay," Dean said. "Last one opens and?"

The Angel paused for so long that Charlie thought he wasn't going to answer, but she knew it wasn't good. How could it be?

"Lucifer walks free."

"...Lucifer? No, Lucifer is just a story they told in Demon Sunday school. There's no such thing."

_No_, Charlie thought, shaking her head. The skin of her forehead brushed part of the raised wallpaper. _There has to be a balance somewhere. There's always a balance. If God exists, why not the Devil? _

"Three days ago, you thought there was no such thing as me. Why do you think we're here, walking among you for the first time in two thousand years?"

Charlie frowned at that. How had she seen Angels as a child if none had walked among them for that length of time? Head beginning to throb, Charlie pushed the thoughts aside for now.

"To stop Lucifer," Dean whispered.

"It's why we've arrived."

"Well, bang up job so far. Stellar work with The Witnesses. S'nice."

_Why are you such an idiot?_

If Charlie could guess at the tone the Angel now sported, she would guess anger and impatience. "We tried. There are other battles – " Dean scoffed softly, "- other Seals. Some we'll win, some we'll lose. This one, we lost."

Dean said nothing but she could imagine his face. The Angel's voice shifted even more, and the ethereal tone she'd first heard in the warehouse resonated through even stronger. "Our num**bers** are not **unlimited**. **Six** of my brothers **died in **the field this w**eek**."

Angels died? That was... fucked up.

"You think the armies of Heaven should just follow you around? There's a bigger picture here." What Castiel said next sent an uncomfortable shiver down Charlie's spine**,** and she bit her lip to stop the hiss of pain when she twinged her shoulder. "You shoul**d show me some respect. I dragged **you out of Hell**. I can throw you back in.**"

Christ, that wasn't good. She stepped out to see if she could break the tension and froze. There was no one in the kitchen.

"What...?"

"You were listening."

She whirled at his voice so close to her, and choked on the yelp of pain when she wrenched her shoulder. The Angel was just suddenly there. She backed away until she hit the counter by the sink, exactly as she had done in the warehouse

He frowned, but didn't follow her. "I did not mean to frighten you."

Charlie swallowed and shook her head. "S'fine. I just wasn't expecting, uh, well, you. Well I was expecting you, but not there - uh, here. When you were talking with Dean, only you weren't here, and I'm hallucinating or dreaming or something and – " she stopped, blinked and he was suddenly in front of her, less than a foot from her face.

She looked up, eyes wide and throat constricted. Jesus, he was fast.

He studied her features for a few moments of silence, and she found she couldn't look into his strange eyes. Instead, she stared at the curve of wing over his shoulder. The feathers were so dark, almost black, but when they moved in the faint light breaking through the windows, they shimmered a deep blue underneath. Everything else on him looked fairly normal. She could only guess that he was finally settling into his vessel.

He moved finally, his arm reaching up, fingers outstretched on the way to pressing against her forehead. Charlie flinched, grunting at the resulting pain. When there was no contact, she cautiously squinted her eyes to see him look quickly away and drop his hand. "I..." He frowned, and seemed at a loss as to what to say. Pressing his lips tight, he raised his gaze to hers and spoke. "I do not mean to frighten you. I apologize, I may have inadvertently pulled you into the peripheral of Dean's dream."

"Oh," Charlie said, for lack of anything remotely better to say.

He sighed, and the warm air that rushed across her skin was actually quite minty, which was weird on so many levels. "You are in pain."

"Uh. Yes, I suppose so."

"I was going to heal you."

Charlie frowned. Heal her? How – oh. The finger to the forehead thing? Would that work? It hadn't worked entirely when he'd wanted to knock her out. "Sure."

He reached up once more and pressed gently. A rush of... something washed over her and she felt a little dizzy. Blinking rapidly when he removed his hand, she found that she was fine. No aches or pains**,** and she felt fairly well rested.

"Wow. That was... wow." She swallowed and slipped her hand out of the sling. He still hadn't moved away from her. Did he understand the concept of personal space? Maybe not. "Thank you."

He didn't seem to know what to do with that so he just nodded and said, "You're welcome."

She figured he was going to leave now**,** so without thinking she grabbed the closest part she could reach of him, which happened to be a lapel of his coat. "I – I'm sorry you lost your family. I didn't know Angels could die," she said softly, unsure whether her words would even mean anything to him.

His expression shifted so subtly, yet so dramatically in the span of three seconds, that Charlie forgot to breathe. He went from impassive, to confused, to vulnerable, and finally to determination. "Thank you," he said roughly, looking as unsure as she felt.

His demeanor shifted again**,** and she got the impression that he really wanted to leave**,** so she let go of his coat to allowed him to have space, only he didn't move back. What she could only describe as a tear split the air behind him, silent and almost invisible except for the glimpse of a multicolored nebula in the midst of space**. **He flared his wings and**,** with one heavy beat, disappeared into it.

* * *

Charlie awoke panting to find herself healed and the boys already up. Dean looked pensive, and Sam confused.

This was one hell of a life she'd walked into.

_A/N: There ya have it. Chapter 2. Glad you are enjoying it. Thank you for the favourites, follows, and reviews! ZeB xx_


	3. Toothache

"_It is better to conquer yourself than to win a thousand battles. Then the victory is yours. It cannot be taken from you, not by Angels or Demons, Heaven or Hell." – Buddha._

**3\. Toothache**

_**Date: Late September, 2008.**_

_**Location: On the road.**_

Charlie liked the Impala. It was dark, sleek, and old, and the engine affected a roaring noise that vibrated right to her bones. She may not know much about cars (Dean had been suitably horrified when he'd realized how little that was), but she knew what she liked. This was a beauty.

Sam had shotgun, and Dean insisted on no one else driving but himself, which left Charlie in the back seat. This made Charlie uncomfortable for several reasons, the main two being the burning need to control her direction, and the sheer boredom of staring at the backs of two heads. Keeping an eye on the road helped keep her occupied, but the road got boring, and there was no one else to look at like she usually would on public transport. There was only so much people-watching and speculation one could do with two brothers who said very little. She'd have to stick with cracking the window to stare out at the scenery, and imagining scenarios - like some poor sap running along the roadside to keep up, or a knight on horseback - to go with Dean's music choice.

They had thought it prudent to stay at Bobby's for one more day. The older Hunter had insisted on trying to find just a little bit more on the Seals the Angel had mentioned while they had the numbers to search through his library of Monsterabelia. They had combed through several books, but that night the boys began hinting at moving on since their skin was itching to get back to a case after The Witnesses fiasco. Charlie had privately agreed with the idea. There was only so much Angels, God, and the Devil that a person could take, and although she enjoyed the stability of a house, she had spent the latter years of her life on the road. Sitting still too long made her body restless and her temper short.

There was also the setback of having no car. Plus, there was the issue of trying to save up her money as much as possible. Charlie tried not to dwell on how she had blown all her hard earned cash before Martha had suggested she take a trip to Bobby's. It had been a cliché, reckless mistake. _I have to start again,_ she thought. _Maybe I should take that literally. A new start._ Charlie sighed. Stealing was out of the question, and it always had been. She didn't have the confidence, nor the apathy, to take another person's belongings, and there wasn't enough luck in the world to keep Charlie free of the authorities if she became a thief. Sure, breaking and entering for the job was easy - and sometimes necessary - and cleaning up after herself was automatic, but she was almost guaranteed that if she were to steal a car, someone would find her. Karma was a bitch and followed Charlie around like irritating fly; just when she thought she was in the clear, it would bump loudly into her ear.

_Ghosting by is so much easier_. _Harder to track, and more entertaining_.

Charlie quieted her mind for a moment. The knight she had been imagining was adept at keeping up on his white steed beside the Impala, but his armor looked cumbersome. Blinking, she got rid of it, though she didn't put the effort into a face for him. Instead he rode with the hood of Death, scythe notched into the saddle to stand tall and menacing. Thinking of Death turned her thoughts to the haze of memory she had experienced last week. The gray, blurred face of her aunt above her, wide expanse of equally gray sky as her backdrop.

"_Come back to us, Charlie."_

_A sharp slap, and Charlie heaved up everything -_

Closing her eyes tight, Charlie shook off the memory. The song had switched over into something else. They boys were talking about any potential cases nearby. Charlie looked back out to find her make-believe Death gone. She conjured up the image of a bird instead, black and small, wings shining like an oil slick in the light. It caught the wind to glide a swift pace, swaying left and right to avoid bushes, trees, and posts as they continued. It looked happy.

She rested her head on the glass again, elbow on the lip where glass met door to support her chin. Hunting was a terribly lonely profession, Charlie thought. It had been several months since she had worked with any other Hunter, and now it was Dean, Sam, _and _Bobby. A fight to stop the end of the world. Bobby and the boys had been surprised by her sudden recovery two nights previous. Skepticism had been the forefront of conversation; why would an Angel suddenly be willing to heal someone when none had helped them through the ordeal? Charlie had brushed them off several times. Why look a gift horse in the mouth? Who knew what the Angel wanted in return.

Charlie didn't want to think about it.

Rolling her head back along the the glass so her skin wouldn't grease it up too much, she began to wonder how long her association with the boys would last. She often tried to help out other Hunters when possible, but she never stayed with them long term. They found her fairly fine to hang out with during a case, but any longer than a week and they claimed to feel strange vibes about her.

"_Not in a bad way," a guy named Jay had said, clapping her on the shoulder as he was leaving the motel they had holed up in. He had just gotten up, told her he couldn't be around her, and then attempted to explain why he felt that way. "You're just so damn quiet. I forget you're there, and then you are, and I just - I dunno. I feel like it's a bit weird. Puts me on edge, you know? Unhealthy." _

Charlie _didn't _know, but she took it in her stride. She had felt the same, she supposed, only her strange feeling was to keep moving. Ever since she could remember, she had felt a pull to do just that. Sometimes it would be somewhere specific she wanted to go, like West or North; others were a vague, burning desire to be somewhere that wasn't where she was. She would often travel for days in one direction until the feeling stopped and she could go back to normal.

She hadn't quite figured out what it was yet, but she hoped it wasn't ominous.

Smirking humorlessly, Charlie thought it probably was.

* * *

There were no obvious cases showing up in the time they had been travelling from Sioux Falls to Jackson, Colorado, so they decided to bunk down at the next motel to see what cropped up in the next few days.

Since she'd been alone for The Witness incident when Bobby vanished, the boys, though reluctant at first, decided it was best if she bunked in their room. Charlie bit her tongue to prevent the reflexive rejoinder about sexist thinking, but she had to agree on principle due to her low funds. _Something I'll have to remedy very soon. _

Charlie had showered while they went off to find dinner. She hadn't been hungry, and opted to get clean instead while there was no one around. When she was done, dressed in sleep shorts and a tank top, she made quick revisions of her weapons and other effects in her bag. Dumping everything on the slim cot - that had been nestled firmly by Dean against the wall - Charlie began her quick inventory. A small, plain, opaque plastic container she checked first. Charlie was satisfied that the thick strip of duct tape securing it hadn't been tampered with. It housed the few IDs she had allowed herself to procure. Guilt often gnawed at her when she had to use them for the job on unsuspecting people. She still couldn't understand how people just assumed that everyone were who they claimed to be, just from the flash of a badge.

Charlie shook her head and stuffed the box back down to the bottom of her bag, wrapped in a shirt that really needed washing. _I'm running out of clothes_. Laying out the rest of her belongings, she made a mental note to go to one of her storage lockers. Her .22 pistol, complete with a box of iron rounds, was safe and secure and easily slipped under the thin pillow the desk clerk had provided earlier. The few knives she carried were checked for sharpness before being wrapped up carefully in their sheath of soft leather**.** They were stashed with the box of IDs. There was a small weave pouch, about the size of her palm, filled with Worry Dolls from an old Hoodoo woman back in Louisiana. Madame Navi was a kind old soul, and was very traditional when it came to her practice. Protection for her 'best customer' was a vital component of daily life. Charlie placed it under her pillow with her gun after checking the dolls were intact and clean.

Everything else in the bag was just clothing that smelled a little rank. Wrinkling her nose and deciding to use the opportunity of the boys still being out, she gave them a small wash and rinse in the bathroom sink before hooking them over the shower rail. Her underwear and bra, worn to an embarrassing degree, were hooked onto the end of the cot to dry, away from the prying eyes of the boys.

She was ensconced in her bed by the time they returned, flat on her back to stretch her spine, hands on her stomach to stare at the unremarkable ceiling.

Dean gave her a slightly disturbed look as he removed his jacket. "You're not earning any points by creeping me out with the Night of the Living Dead look."

Charlie blinked at him, and belatedly realized she looked a bit corps-y, all straight lines and neat bedsheets. All she was missing was a lily. She cleared her throat, watching Sam vanish into the bathroom. "Sorry." She shifted her hands without any definitive purpose, and then adjusted her body to look more normal. Dean watched her with a vague, confused interest. She finally just turned onto her side when he flicked on the TV. "I don't sleep well. Or, actually, I kinda do sleep well, but... weird." Dean was looking disturbed again, with a regretful undertone that Charlie suspected had to do with his decision in letting her bunk with them. Charlie huffed, slipping her hand under her pillow to gently run her fingers over the coarse material of the Worry Doll pouch. "I've always slept six and a half hours from the moment I was born. No more. Sometimes less, if I've been woken up, obviously, but I generally can't sleep more than that. It's like my body gets fully recharged and there's no extra sleep to be had. Drove my parents nuts." Drove them a bit insane, if she was honest. "I can have horrible nightmares, or just normal ones, or just no thoughts at all."

There was a moment of silence. Sam came out of the bathroom and said he was going out for something and that he would be back. They watched him go. Dean lowered the TV on a rerun of a show Charlie had never cared for. "You gonna be tossing and turning?"

Charlie tried to gauge his expression. It was carefully neutral. She had no idea what he could be thinking. "No." She shook her head and frowned. "I don't generally move much at all, or make any noise. Don't know why. I think I subconsciously trained myself to keep still at night because - " Charlie stopped. Although it was a long time ago, there was still a residual effect to Not Talk About It.

A sudden understanding changed Dean's features. He winced, before sending her a look of dark sympathy. "Your parents would have heard ya and done somethin' about it."

Charlie hummed in agreement. She let go of the dolls to settle more. They didn't speak again. Charlie spent time watching Dean settle on top of the covers to watch the crappy show he had chosen. It was some sort of Spanish novella. Charlie had never been good with languages. Her brain didn't translate or adapt to it well, so she didn't even try to understand what they were saying. He kept it fairly low, and eventually Charlie's mind began to drift in a light buzz of sensation. The shifting images flashed throughout the room periodically. Oddly soothing. It wasn't often that she shared a room, and it was almost nice, despite not knowing Dean all that well. Having others around that actually knew what they were doing if something went wrong was a safety she wasn't used to. She might even be able to relax a bit.

Only… she couldn't. At least, not entirely. The blankets began to itch, the faux mattress was lumpy, and she couldn't help but watch the shadows. She _knew, _logically, that the Ghosts of her parents were gone. She trusted Bobby to have completed the spell in its entirety (they would have known otherwise long before now), but she had blocked out the memories for years. On top of the dreadful images of her parents, Charlie was stuck with the lingering thoughts on the Angel. He had healed her, had tried not to frighten her, but he was such a sight to behold. Terrifying and erratic. Unpredictable and surging with a power that chilled her. Concentrating on her breathing, Charlie brushed the cool handle of her pistol, and closed her eyes.

* * *

Charlie woke to clammy skin and a fading memory. Blinking at the bare ceiling, she pushed down the blanket and ran a hand across her damp face. She frowned. The hairs on the back of her arm were standing on end. There was also a strange pressure on her skin, one she'd felt before when the Angel was aroun - oh.

Looking out into the room, she saw that Sam's bed was empty. She pushed herself up on one elbow. Sam's bed was more than empty. It looked undisturbed. He hadn't been back.

There was a rustle to her right**. **The Angel was sitting on the side of Dean's bed. Dean was still asleep, twitching every so often under his leather jacket above the covers. The Angel, facing the door, tilted his head and stretched his wings slowly. The movements were silent, except for a small rasp when they brushed the bed linen**.** When they finished stretching, they returned with a smooth movement to tuck neatly around the curve of his shoulders and arms. She wondered why, until she realized, if they were flush to his back, he'd be sitting on them. The glow to his skin had faded now. The only discernible feature that was strange were the feathered appendages. Charlie wasn't sure if that meant he was more settled in his vessel, or that her new barriers were starting to work.

As if sensing the movement, Dean woke, jerking back when the Angel spoke. "Hello, Dean." He swiveled his head to regard Dean with a quiet intensity, and a hint of shrewd calculation. "What were you dreaming about?"

Dean sighed in exasperation, gracelessly throwing off his jacket. He was so close to the wings, Charlie thought, that he could touch them if he wanted to. Would he feel them? She wondered. Could _she _feel them? Were they as tangible as the vessel he was possessing?

"Do you get your freak on from watching other people sleep?" The Angel didn't respond. "What do you want?"

"Listen to me. You have to stop it."

Dean frowned and glanced over at Charlie. He seemed surprised that she was awake, but outside of his confusion and annoyance, he didn't give her any hints as to what he may be thinking. He turned back to the Angel. "Stop what?"

The Angel reached an arm out and pressed two fingers to Dean's forehead. A static, electric-blue arc of light traveled from the Angels sternum to his fingers, and cracked out like lightning to surround Dean's body. He vanished.

Charlie tensed, blinking hard at the after image of Dean's outline. "What the fuck?" she blurted. After a moment, she recovered enough to sit up slowly, reflexively palming her gun under the pillow. The Worry Dolls slipped out ahead of it and dropped with a small, hollow sound. Castiel eyed them for a brief moment, head tilted curiously. Clicking the safety off, Charlie rubbed her thumb over the familiar smooth handle, ready to aim and let loose should the Angel try to do anything untoward. _Not that it would help._ "What did you just do?"

Castiel frowned from his perch on the bed. "I sent him back in time." He glanced up from his perusal of the pouch. "Are you planning on using your weapon on me?"

Charlie didn't even look at the gun. Keeping it in her hand out of sheer perseverance of wanting to stay alive, she shrugged. "Reflex – hang on, did you say back in time?"

He stood. Her grip tightened. "Yes."

She raised her eyebrows. "You can do that?"

"Yes."

"Oh. I - Okay."

There was a brief moment of quiet in the room. The faint sound of cars coming and going outside the only background noise. Castiel stared at her. She stared back.

"Seriously?"

Now he looked confused. "I have said as much, yes."

"Oh. I didn't think that was possible."

"It is." He squinted at her. She fidgeted under his steady regard. "You still doubt."

Charlie waved her hand absently, one shoulder rising in an effort to articulate how bizarre she thought this was. She stopped when she belatedly realized that she was waving her gun around. She let it drop to rest on her thigh. Contemplating the Angel before her, she clicked the safety on, but kept it in a loose grip. "I guess people find it very hard to believe things. Even if they see it."

He took a few steps until he was at the foot of Dean's bed, brow furrowed at her response. There was a look on his face that Charlie could only call searching; eyes to one side, brow low, eyes narrowed. They flicked back up to her. "'Seeing is believing,'" he said, but he kept that same look; narrowed eyes and guarded features. "You watched me do it, yet I see doubt."

Charlie bit her lower lip gently. "I've seen a lot of things in my life. Seeing, is not always believing. Or perhaps it's a refusal to believe, because the truth can be frightening." His silence at her response made her uncomfortable. Clearing her throat, she yielded. "I'm sorry for doubting you."

He hummed, glancing away in thought. He looked back at her and nodded, once. "I accept your apology."

Charlie nodded as well. "Okay then. I have another question, if you could oblige me."

His eyes slid sideways, head tilted a fraction, and she got the distinct impression that he was listening to something. His gaze returned to her. "I only have a moment."

She nodded again, forcing her body to relax a fraction. His stare was unwavering. It was easier, but more alarming in a way, to look at now. She was getting used to those eyes.

"Alright. Where did you send Dean?"

"Back in time."

"No I - " She licked her lips and started again. "_When_ did you send Dean?"

"April thirtieth, nineteen-seventy-three."

"Okay. _Why_ did you send him back there?"

The Angel finally blinked and looked away. She waited, and when he looked at her again, he seemed to come to a decision. He walked to the end of Sam's bed and sat down, mirroring her stance of hands on his thighs, back straight, and both feet firmly on the ground. It was a calculated move, and very obvious. Watching him carefully, she wondered if this position was to ease her in some way. A ploy to garner some sort of temporary bond of trust or camaraderie. It also might be facet of his personality, she thought idly. She had met him twice before now, and he didn't strike her as the type to understand the art of being a Human Being. Too stiff and alien.

He looked back down at the dolls again. Suddenly, the pouch was in his right hand. "I have set Dean a task. I have orders to give him a means of seeking the truth."

Charlie debated on whether to ask for the dolls back before he ruined them. Already she could see his energy-light picking its way across the surface curiously. She had no idea the effect it would have. "Seeking what truth?"

He opened the pouch, widening the small opening with two fingers to stretch out the drawstring. He tipped out a few of the crude little things dressed in dresses and pigtails into his other hand. "The truth about Sam Winchester. May I ask what these are?" He glanced up, but his eyes kept straying down again. He picked one up to examine it further with another squinted gaze.

Charlie didn't hesitate. "No."

After a few moments where he accepted her answer quite easily, he continued to study the small figures that were as long as a finger. He volunteered nothing more. Charlie allowed her shoulders to slump. _This is going to be like pulling teeth,_ she thought. Maybe a different tactic would help her understand how to deal with him before she got too deep (or too frustrated) about finding out about Sam. Tapping her fingers on the side of her gun, she said simply, "They're Worry Dolls to capture bad thoughts and worries so they don't bother you. Are you always this direct?"

He made a curious noise at her answer without looking at her. "Yes."

"Okay. Do you elaborate, or do you answer within the limits of the question?"

There was a hesitation. His eyes didn't leave the faux figure of a child with blonde weaved hair, but he wasn't avidly picking apart every thread anymore. Now his light hovered, a small speck that kept contact with it. Charlie could see that brain of his working away. "What are you asking?"

Charlie gave him a shrewd look, privately amused at his sudden cautious countenance. She could practically hear the warning bells going off in his head. What was she asking? How much information to give? How much can I get away with? "Do you omit information - information you are allowed to divulge - purposely, unless someone asks for it?"

He sat, if possible, even straighter, but his face resolved back into neutral and he dropped his hand that held the doll down. Charlie wondered if she'd managed to make him clam up already, but then, "I will answer to the best of my ability."

Charlie closed her eyes, took a deep breath and put her gun to one side on the cot. Opening her eyes, she hoped this was worth it. "Alright. Tell me this truth about Sam."

* * *

His 'moment' turned out to be about twenty minutes, thankfully, and she had learned quite a lot about the Winchesters. The yellow-eyed Demon, Azazel, had made a deal with Mary to come to her in ten years time, but he hadn't told her why. It also turned out, mother Winchester hadn't been the only one to have made such a strange deal. When ten years had passed, he went around feeding his blood to six-month old children. For what, no one knew; not even the Angels, which was the most frightening part of all. How could God not know what Azazel had done?

Sam had Demon blood running through his veins, and he was _using_ it. He was exorcising Demons with the help of another Demon in order to grow stronger to kill the Demon, Lilith. _So many Demons, so little time,_ Charlie thought tiredly. _At least_ _it explains that weirdness I noticed when I first saw Gigantor back at Bobby's._

She sighed, and released the bridge of her nose to look up at the Angel of Thursday. Was today another Thursday for delivering horrible news? She wondered. "That's a little fucked up," she finally commented.

Castiel nodded, though his expression was a little confused at her vernacular. From their conversation in the short amount of time he could spare, Charlie had picked up that he seemed to understand the bare essentials of human phrasing through tone, rather than the actual meaning. That, and he also took things a little too literally. It just confirmed an idea of him probably being useless at playing Human. In the back of her mind, she realized she kind of liked that. A being that couldn't blend well. It was a first.

She sat forward and rubbed her eyes. Questioning the Angel had been exhausting, and a massive exercise in patience. He'd often been deliberately vague, unless she managed to back him into a verbal corner. Even then, if it would break his orders, he refused to say anything. When it happened far too often, and with the time dwindling, she had sighed and backtracked to find a better route of questions.

Charlie started at the sound of his voice when he spoke again. He had been quiet for some time. "I must go. I will return later with Dean."

He stood and she followed suit without thinking, only to freeze in surprise when he flared his wings and vanished back through one of those strange tears. She blinked for several seconds, before gesturing helplessly with her hands. "It's polite to say goodbye, you know. You shouldn't just say you have to leave, and then _leave_."

Of course there was no answer. Great. Now what?

There was no sign of Sam and only God - or**,** rather**,** Castiel - knew when Dean would be back, so she was left to her own devices.

She did the only thing she could do; she got dressed and headed out to get money.

"Dammit. He took the dolls."

* * *

The bus depot was noisy and crowded. A shifting mass of people in one place always had Charlie on high alert, but it was a necessity for anonymity. Public modes of transport were interesting, but they were far more controlled than the stations themselves. Her locker, one of many across several states, was dented, vandalized by spray paint**,** but still secure. A quick check of the duffel bag she'd stashed there proved promising. There was enough here to help her get some cash by trade in the right shops, and enough clothes to last her a few weeks.

She dumped the contents of her backpack into the duffel (pocketing her lucky wallet) and folded the bag up to fit in as well. It wasn't the easiest to carry, but it would have to do.

Leaving the depot, Charlie made her way to the nearest health clinic. Two hours, some donated plasma, and thirty-five dollars later, she began to look for some places to earn more. It had been a while since she had passed through Jackson, but she was nearly sure there was a charm or Hoodoo shop around here somewhere.

Half an hour of looking proved fruitless. The town was less familiar than she had thought, and she didn't know how much longer they would be staying here. It was also nearing lunchtime, and her stomach was protesting her skipping breakfast.

There was a sandwich deli across the street that looked promising. At least until a server came out to bark at a homeless man who was begging just outside. The displaced man hunched forward, hand held out in a vain attempt at pleading to the man's better nature, but he had no luck. Charlie sighed at the lack of humanity.

Crossing the street, she waved to the vagrant. He stopped. Judging by the level of dirt that smeared his face and beard, and the worn, old clothing he was wearing, he'd been destitute for some time. His features were thin, his hair and beard dark and scraggly.

"Do know this area well?"

His hands shook when he raised them to fix his coat, and he refused to look her in the eye. It took him a moment, his nervousness obvious and his countenance disappointed, before he nodded. Perhaps he thought she wasn't going to give him anything in return if he divulged the information she wanted.

"Good. Stay here, and don't move. I don't have much right now, but is coffee and a BLT alright with you, or do you want something else?"

He looked up at her in shock. Then looked around in unsure, before nodding once more. "Uh... That's fine. T - thank you."

Charlie hoisted her duffel further up her shoulder, and nodded. "Okay."

* * *

"So what's your name?" she asked, taking a bite out of her chicken wrap. They were sitting on a bench further down the street from the deli, where Charlie had had to rein in her temper. She would have given the manager a talking to about how to treat other human beings, but it would be fruitless. Some people were just assholes.

"Micah."

Something instinctively unrecognizable _lurched_ inside Charlie's gut. She stopped chewing, the bite of her sandwich turning tasteless in her mouth. Glancing sideways at the man, she watched him breathe in the fresh scent of his own sandwich. He sighed.

She swallowed with difficulty. There was something off here. "Just Micah?"

"Yes." He took a slow, savoring bite. He was blissful in his task, before belatedly realizing she was staring at him. "S'very good. Thank you," he mumbled.

"Uh. You're very welcome. Seriously, though. Just, Micah?"

He nodded, eyes brighter, demeanor (quite suddenly) vastly happier than the frail man who'd been denied at the deli. He swallowed. "My Father gave it to me." He took another bite.

Charlie took a sip of her tea in an effort to wash down a lump of chicken and lettuce before she spit it out. She turned on the bench to look at the man properly. "That's an... unusual name."

"For a Human, yes," he agreed, taking a giant gulp of his coffee, despite how hot she knew it must be. His regard had a new intensity.

Charlie carefully wrapped her food back up, and placed it between them. A quick glance to her bag didn't give her much hope of getting out a weapon on time to defend herself with, because fuck if she knew why she suddenly wanted one. "And you're not Human?"

"I am now. But I wasn't always."

She cleared her throat, picking up her cup but unwilling to take a drink. Instead, her thumbnail pressed into the cardboard. "What were you before?"

"An Angel."

She licked her suddenly dry lips. "What?"

He nodded, smiling in amusement. "An Angel. And you can relax, I mean you no harm." He laughed suddenly. "Not that I could, anyway. I lost my Grace some time ago."

"Your – your Grace?"

"My power. My Celestial Essence. I had to get rid of it."

Charlie took a deep breath. "Why?"

He took another bite of his BLT. Charlie took the time to watch him. He didn't have wings, nor did he have any of that etherealness that Castiel carried. He just looked like an ordinary man.

"I can't tell you much, and I don't really want to. Let's just say, everything kind of turned to shit, and I took the less traveled road of my kind."

"But – why are you here? Homeless?"

"It was easier to hide this way. A brother owed me a favor, so he sent me here. I have a means of living, but this is safer. I took precautions."

Charlie took a drink on reflex, wishing it was something stronger. Looking into the cup, she asked him, "Why are you telling me this?"

"Honestly?"

She looked up at him and nodded, but he was looking up into the sky.

"It's hard to explain. You'll understand eventually, in time. I know what you are**,** so for now, I can tell you this: you have a choice. You can become part of it, or you can walk away. You can see it out until the end, or," he shrugged, "jump right in and do whatever you think is right."

Charlie frowned. What she was? What the hell _was_ this? "That's incredibly unhelpful."

Micah grinned, and she was surprised by how white his teeth were. "I know. Isn't it fantastic? My job became obsolete, just like Atropos, so I don't really care anymore. I can be as helpful, or as unhelpful as I want. There's not much for me anymore**,** so I'm just living until living stops." He finished his sandwich and chugged the last of his coffee. Throwing the wrapper and cup into a nearby trashcan, he stood and saluted her. "Oh, there's a Charm shop two blocks down on the left. It's what you were going to ask me before, yes?"

She nodded, absently.

"Thanks for the lunch. Maybe I'll see you around, but if I don't, do me a favor?"

Charlie could only nod again.

"Look after my brother." With that, he turned and walked away, leaving Charlie to dump her lunch and walk away to find the shop. She still needed cash, and if she spent the next few hours making charms for a woman called Felda in a daze, there was no one to notice.


	4. Some People Like to Watch the World Burn

"_I'm not this dark, twisted person. Yes, I have my demons and this is my way of exorcising them. It gets them out - and better out than in."_ – _Naomi Watts._

**4\. Some people just like to watch the world burn.**

It was dark when Charlie returned to the motel. The room was quiet, and nothing was out of place. It was obvious that no one had been back. With a sigh, she walked over to her bed to dump her bag before going to use the bathroom. When she came back out, she startled at the Angel that hadn't been there a moment before.

"Jesus," she murmured, clenching her hands to stem the unexpected adrenaline. Castiel stood near the bed, face blank, and gaze off somewhere to the right of her shoulder.

Movement alerted her to Dean's return on his bed, exactly where he'd been when Castiel had vanished him. She remained where she was, unmoving to give him a chance to recover. He curled up to sit, hands braced on the edge of the bed. He looked at Castiel, before his gaze drifted into the distance like the Angel. "I couldn't stop any of it," he said quietly. He looked haggard and worn. "She still made the deal." He turned his head, but couldn't quite make himself look at Castiel. "She still died in the nursery, didn't she?"

Charlie remained as still as she was able, uncertain as to her place in this moment. Unclenching her hands, she concentrated on breathing so she wouldn't disturb anything. _Is he talking about his mother? What happened?_

"Don't be too hard on yourself," the Angel commented firmly. "You couldn't have stopped it."

_For the love of -_ Charlie shook her head minutely, glaring at him. _It's called tact, Castiel. Learn to use it. _

Castiel's gaze flickered to her for a split second. His expression faltered, wings wilting a little to whisp against the floor.

Charlie frowned. Had... had he heard that? Could he read minds?

Dean stood slowly. "What?"

Castiel collected himself and finally turned to regard the man, a look of compassion settling on his face. Charlie wondered if he really felt the emotion. "Destiny can't be changed, Dean. All roads lead to the same destination."

Dean looked a little betrayed, but confusion won out. "Then why'd you send me back?"

"For the truth. Now you know as much as we do."

"What the hell are you talkin' about?"

Castiel looked pointedly at Sam's undisturbed bed.

Dean followed his gaze. "Where's Sam?" When the Angel wasn't quick enough to answer, Dean suddenly rounded on Charlie. "Where is he, Charlie?"

Charlie tensed at his sudden focus, wary as to what he'd do. "I don't know. He wasn't here when I got up, and I haven't seen him all day."

"And that didn't _worry_ you?"

Charlie narrowed her eyes. "He's a grown man, Dean, and I'm not a babysitter."

He opened his mouth to say something else, but Castiel interrupted. "We know what Azazel did to your brother. What we don't know is why; what his end game is. He went to great lengths to cover that up."

Dean clenched his jaw, turning towards Castiel. "Where's Sam?"

The Angel answered promptly. "Four twenty-five, Waterman."

Dean immediately moved to get his jacket and pistol.

"Your brother is headed down a dangerous road, Dean, and we're not sure where it leads. So stop it. Or we will."

Dean paused, but gritted his teeth and turned back for the door.

Reluctant to leave him to do this by himself, Charlie stepped forward. "I'll go with you."

"Stay out of it, Charlie." He opened the door.

Rolling her eyes at his terse response, she said firmly, "Well I'm in it now, so let me help."

He turned swiftly, blocking the door from closing with a harsh hand. The movement and noise of his hand against the wood caused Charlie to freeze, her body flinching minutely at the suddenness of Dean's reaction. She had to consciously force her hands to remain by her side; reaching for a weapon wouldn't be prudent. "God damnit, Charlie! This has got nothing to do with you. He's _my_ brother. You shouldn't even _be_ here. This shit -" he stopped himself, and forced a calmer tone. "You got no idea what's going on, so just go home."

Charlie frowned, rolling her fingers into her palms. "Excuse me? Don't you dare try that shit with me. You hardly know me –"

"Exactly!" He thrust out a hand. "I hardly know you, and you hardly know me, or Sam. I can't trust you. Not right now, and I don't have time to make nice, okay? I gotta go." He turned and slammed the door shut.

Charlie growled. A noise behind her made her whirl to face the Angel. She narrowed her eyes. "You. Why did you do that?"

His face was blank. "To what are you referring?"

"Don't play stupid," she snapped. "It doesn't suit you. Why did you threaten him? 'If you don't stop him, we will'. What the hell was that?"

His demeanor changed radically in the span of several seconds. Gone was his neutral pretense. In its stead, he pulled himself straighter, a heavily shadowed frown creeping across his face. His wings folded up tight against his back. "I do not 'play' anything," he intoned lowly. "Sam is dangerous."

"Dangerous," she echoed. In all her years of growing up and hearing about the Winchesters, being dangerous had never been brought up. Dangerous to other Monsters, yes, but Sam being dangerous enough for Heaven to want him dead if he wasn't stopped by his own brother? Charlie shook her head. "Have you even talked to him?"

"Not personally, no."

"Then how do you know?"

"His actions are dangerous. I have orders to - "

"So that makes threatening his brother okay? Do Angels not talk to people? Maybe you should. You might be able to convince him to stop before deciding to kill him." _You might actually see that he's Human like the rest of us, and maybe he made a mistake._ Castiel himself told her that Azazel put that blood in Sam. She didn't know him, or know what he'd been up to, but surely there had to be something to salvage before killing the man. _No one ever asks for something like this._

"No – "

"Why?" A sudden thought hit her, couldn't help but voice it out loud. "Why are you all suddenly here?" He opened his mouth, but she waved off what she knew would be his predicted response about Lucifer, and continued. "Where the hell have Angels been before this? You said you hadn't walked among us for over two thousand years. Why?"

Charlie realized that that was a particularly touchy subject when the lights flickered, and the TV turned on with a hiss of static and interrupted voices. A shadow loomed from Castiel's form, darkening the room with electric blue arcs of light, darting out in quick succession to strike the walls and floor. None struck her, but the heat and radiance that raced by inches from her face and arms was overwhelming. His form shifted, and she could see that ethereal face that wasn't quite a face, roiling under the skin. Dark wings opened slowly to brush the walls of the room, and his eyes began to exude a blue-white glow.

Charlie growled at the display, pushing past her first reaction to step back. He was trying to terrify her.

It was working.

When he spoke, it was deeper, more resonant, and clashed with the vessel he possessed. "**I** **do not have to answer to you**."

"No. You don't," she snapped, stepping forward, pushing to stay just off balance enough to continue. "But I would _like_ you to. Where have you been before now? Where were you when other disasters threatened our world?" She threw her hands out towards him. "Where were you when people asked for your _help_? Your _guidance_? Where was your Father?"

"**You dare to ask such audacious questions. Take care what you say.**"

"Or what?" She gestured to his display of power, hands shaking. An arc of light came too close and she threw up a hand to stave off the burn of it. Looking at this _being_, Charlie finally stepped back. Softly, if a bit unevenly, she spoke, "What happened to not meaning to frighten me?"

There was a tense moment, before he suddenly deflated. His power ebbed, the glow receded, and his wings retreated. His strange gaze was now focused on her cheek. She absently wiped her fingers across it, startled to find it wet. Wiping the rest away, Charlie cleared her throat and stepped back.

He opened his mouth – to say what, she couldn't fathom – but his head jerked to one side, listening to something she couldn't hear. "I must go."

"Yeah," she said softly, but he was gone before she finished.

* * *

An hour later, Sam returned. He paused at the threshold upon seeing her. She'd been sitting on her bed since Castiel left, still trying to calm her shaking.

He hesitated, and she looked back down at her interlaced fingers. She was glad it was dark enough for him not to notice her distress. It was just a shame it hadn't been dark enough not to notice the strangeness about him. A darkness swirling under his skin**,** like smoke.

It was true**,** then. She knew it had to be, but seeing - she huffed out a quiet, humorless laugh - was believing.

"You seen Dean?"

She flexed her fingers, quietly observing the tiny scars from years of Hunting. "No."

"Damn it." Running a hand through his hair, he paced for several minutes before tossing away his jacket and slumping into the seat by the window.

Curious as to what he'd say - since he was oblivious to her knowledge - she asked, "Are you really doing what they say you're doing?"

His expression was a lame attempt at sincerity. "I don't know what you're talking about."

She gave him a look. "Of course you do. You're out exorcising with Demon powers. Or, at least, that's what they say." She rubbed her thumbs together. "And with the help of a Demon too."

He was silent.

"Why?"

He picked up a book and opened it, sitting tense and silent until, "I'm not really up to having a discussion like this with someone I barely know."

She laughed a little harshly. After a moment of silence, she frowned. "I watched three families die because of Demons. Whole families; children and adults possessed, tortured and slaughtered. That was just in the first month after the Hell Gate opened. It was like a free-for-all. A lot of the wilder Demons that were released just wanted carnage." She rubbed the hairs that Castiel had singed on her wrist. Charlie continued, "I've exorcised countless of them, only to watch others take their place. I came across a single father and his little girl in the second month. The Demon had possessed the father and – well, let's just say he hurt his daughter. She didn't understand, of course. She was only six. By the time I got to her..."

There were people chatting outside, the sound of car doors slamming shut and engines purring. Doors opened and closed**,** and then the night turned quiet.

"I'm sorry."

Charlie released her grip and sighed. "Demons can't be trusted, Sam. There's always an agenda. I just hope you know what you're doing."

He turned in his seat, hands open and eager, willing her to understand. "But I do! I do know what I'm doing. I'm saving people – "

"Don't," she said sharply, flicking her gaze up to pin him where he sat. She wasn't sure how effective it was to a man so large compared to her, but she didn't let it deter her. She wasn't going to let him ply her with platitudes about the supposed greater good.

"What? But – "

"Don't. I don't want to hear how you think you're doing something good. Everyone always thinks they're doing something good. 'I'm doing God's work.' 'I'm doing this for us.' 'It'll be better this way.' The road to Hell is paved with good intentions, Sam. Only bad things come from bad things."

He grew frustrated. "You don't know what it's like. It's just like Dean, he thinks – "

He would beat this until there was nothing left, so she tried a different tactic. "It feels good, doesn't it?"

He frowned. "What?"

"The power. It feels good, doesn't it?"

He pressed his lips together, hands falling to back to the table in retreat.

"It's ok to say it. It's ok to feel it. Power feels good, Sam. That's the point. That's how it works. Don't forget who you are. She's a _Demon_, Sam. Don't forget that. She may be the one Demon in the whole world who's on our side, but the world doesn't work that way. We're never that lucky."

* * *

Sam was quiet for the rest of the night. He looked up frequently, moving aside the heavy curtain to allow the yellow street light in. The color was sickening, and it clashed hideously with the sheets on the bed, but Charlie could only stare. There was no sign of Dean.

Hours passed in near silence. Pages turned. Rings clattered together on the curtain rail. Car tires crunched over damp gravel. The gentle squeal of brakes, followed by thumps of doors and jangling keys, and low conversation.

Charlie stared. Sam waited.

Finally dawn crept through. A different yellow light. Softer. Warmer. It didn't clash as horrendously, but it made Charlie move anyway. Grabbing her cell phone, she ignored the ache of her muscles and the creak of her joints, and stood. Sam turned his head to watch her, but he remained silent.

Outside, Charlie stopped to breathe. The sun was weak but warm on her skin. The motel was quiet; too late for the night owls, too early for the early risers. Her boots thumped along the concrete, and her jeans rustled as she walked, flannel overshirt flaring behind her.

The main road was empty. The bushes lining it were still. A grass verge, where softened mud, parted like the red sea from cars swerving in too early on the turn, squelched under her boots. She stopped at a utility pole and leaned on the cool wood. Flipping her phone open, she scrolled through the contacts until she reached 'M'.

It was early, but Martha had said to ring 'whenever'. Now would have to qualify.

It was picked up on the fifth ring.

"You better be alright." Stern, with an accent as thick as Bobby's.

Charlie smiled faintly, looking across the road to a field nearby. The tall, unattended grass weaved ever so slightly. It was the color of burnt umber in the sun. "I'm fine."

"Then why the hell you callin' at six in the goddamn mornin'?"

Charlie's shoulders relaxed, and the sudden ache was unexpected. Had she been this tense all night? "I'm with the boys."

"Good."

There was relief underneath Martha's satisfaction, and Charlie looked away from the grass to stare at the grey, rough asphalt a foot from where she stood. There were cracks along the edge, some of it crumbling with a scrape of her boot. "I'm sorry I didn't call sooner."

Martha blew out a breath, and Charlie could picture her grey-blonde bangs ruffling from the gust. "It's fine, darlin'. I'm just glad to know you're ok. How's it been?"

"Hard." There was silence, and Charlie suspected Martha was waiting for more.

Finally, and unusually hesitantly, Martha responded. "Do you want me to tell Bobby?"

Charlie stopped scraping the blacktop, instead pressing down on the soft, muddy grass with the toe of her boot. Lifting it, she admired the clear imprint of the sole. "If you want."

Martha, clearly picking up something from Charlie's mood asked, "Did you want to do it yourself?"

"No," Charlie answered quickly, standing straighter against the pole. The worn wood scratched the fabric of her shirt. "I uh – I don't think I can."

There was a blustering sigh in her ear. Charlie tightened her grip on the phone and twisted the end away from her mouth. "Girl, I've told you before: don't be ashamed of what you tried to do. It ain't no one's fault. Everyone gets lonely. Everyone hits bottom and tries to find a way out."

Charlie hummed, and looked around as casually as possible. She stopped when she realized she was posturing for no one but herself. There was no one to see her mask here. Not even an Angel. Only the turning sky and the brutal road.

"I may not have liked the way you tried, but that's why I sent you to Bobby in the first place. This is gonna have to be your way out: doing what you do best."

Charlie turned and picked at the post. The wood was damp, and her thumbnail left a shallow groove. She let her fingers move as they pleased. "What if my best isn't good enough?"

"You save lives just like any other Hunter. It's good enough, Charlie. _You're_ good enough."

Charlie grunted, not really in the mood to hear it. Martha always saw the good in people she shouldn't. "Have you talked to Bobby about what's happening?"

Martha snorted. "Subtle change of subject. You're gonna have to accept what I'm tellin' you some day, but I'll let it go this time. Yes, I managed to grab him for a few minutes before he had to get his phones. Haven't had a chance since with our own busy lives. Demons are still active. It's strange, though."

Charlie scoffed lightly. "You have no idea."

The sky was a baby blue by the time she finished telling her aunt everything.

"So, you met an Angel?"

Charlie blinked, eyes now more focused on the small drawing she'd carved into the wood. It was in the crude shape of a person with wings. Scrunching her nose, she looked away. "Really? Everything I just told you, and that's what you focus on?"

"We have time to talk about the other stuff." Charlie could imagine the woman waving her hand dismissively. "I'll be ringing Bobby again soon too, but this is the first time, in a _long_ time, I've heard you talk about something that interests you."

"Well, it does," Charlie defended. "First Demons, now Angels. It's a smorgasbord of interest."

"Yes, but I know you, girl. I want to know what you saw, so spill."

Charlie rolled her eyes, but allowed a small smile. Her back to the pole, she looked up, squinting against the brightness of the sky. Thick electric wires cut it up like spider web, slung lazily to attach to a mate in the procession along the edge of the road. "His name is Castiel – "

"The Angel of Thursday?" Martha interrupted, dubiously.

"Yep. I think that might be just one of our things**,** though. I haven't really had a chance to ask." There was a distant thump to her left. She rolled her head, ridges of the post digging into the back of her skull. A man was packing his car. "I don't know if he's limited to Thursdays. He's... intense, though. And he looks odd. He possesses a vessel, and except for the first time, I can't quite make him out as two separate beings anymore. Most of the time they blend, but I can see the oddness under the skin. The second person - being, thing - shifting there and settling. And his wings are _enormous_. Heavy, and dark."

"Any halo? Glowing white robes?"

Charlie chuckled, languidly turning her head away from the man when he left his car to go back inside. "No. I don't know what they look like or wear when they're just Angels, but his vessel wears a suit and trench coat."

There was a choking noise, and then Martha was laughing. Charlie smiled, but it fell quickly when Dean drove by. The set of his face was determined, angry even, and Charlie felt her stomach sink. He didn't even see her when he turned into the lot, parting the mud further. "I gotta go, Martha. I have a feeling I may be at Bobby's soon. I'll let you know, okay?"

The laughter stopped, and Martha cleared her throat. "Everything alright?"

Charlie shook her head, belatedly realizing that her aunt couldn't see her. "I don't know. Don't think so. Nothing dangerous, but I think the boys have some talking to do. I think I'll be a third wheel."

Martha sighed. "Alright, girl. Keep in touch. I'll let Beth know you called. I'm sure she'll want to catch up soon."

Charlie nodded, thinking of her cousin. She hadn't spoken to her in a while, mainly due to Beth's frustration at Charlie's life choices. "Will do."

The phone flipped shut with a slap, before Charlie stuffed it into a pocket. She got to the door just in time to see Dean throwing a right hook to Sam's jaw. The situation escalated quickly, Charlie trying but failing to interfere, to set _something_ right, but the sound of Sam's phone brought everything to an abrupt end.

After a quick argument, Dean and Sam were gone to help Travis, and Charlie was left hefting her bag onto her shoulder. Standing outside the door, shielding her eyes from the sun and looking for someone promising enough to allow her to hitch back to Sioux Falls, Charlie began to wonder if it was time to get a car.


	5. Know Your Limitations

"_Men must know their limitations." – Clint Eastwood._

**5\. Know your limitations.**

_**Date: Late September, 2008.**_

_**Location: Bobby's house.**_

Charlie's phone shuddered across the table with a message. Reaching blindly from her prone position on Bobby's couch, she grabbed it, flipped it open, and squinted at the message from an unknown number.

_You were right. Only bad things come from bad things. I've decided to stop. - S _

Inhaling deeply, Charlie puffed out her cheeks with the release of air, heaving herself up. The book she'd been desperately trying - and failing - to read, slid off her chest and thumped softly onto the cushion beside her.

There was only one 'S' that could possibly be. Rubbing a hand across her tired - and slightly greasy from rubbing it so frequently - face, she decided to text back.

_Do I want to know what happened? – C_

_We came across a Rugaru. Dean thought we could help him. Travis had other ideas. He didn't make it. – S_

_Well, shit. A Rugaru?_ She'd only ever read about the nasty creatures. There was a rattle in the kitchen. Charlie looked up to see Bobby putting down his personal phone. He watched her for a minute, silent. Charlie frowned.

"I'm gonna make a run for lunch. You want anything?"

She cleared her throat. He looked uncomfortable. "Uh. Pie is fine. If they have any. Thanks."

He nodded, adjusted his cap**,** and left. _What the hell's that about?_ _He was fine this morning. _With Bobby's firm shut of the door, Charlie's attention returned to her phone.

_You and Dean okay? – C_

The only noise in the house came from the old pipes and settling floorboards. Even the phones lay dormant. Normally, Charlie had to bury her head under a thin pillow to block out blaring horns, heated arguments, or the rhythmic thumping of enthusiastic neighbors in the motel room attached. This near silence was surprisingly comforting.

Finally: _I don't know. We're heading on. I'm sorry we left the way we did. Catch up in a bit? – S_

Raising an eyebrow, Charlie pursed her lips. Wasn't really a choice, she supposed. They obviously weren't coming back for her.

_Sure. – C_

Tossing the phone in the direction of the couch cushion beside her, it thumped against the abandoned book. Another useless tome. According to the Bible, there were Seven Seals; the first four heralding the arrival of the Four Horsemen. The other three related to martyred Christians. None of them detailed anything to do with the raising of The Witnesses, which left her with books of speculation and theory, all of which varied greatly enough to drive her insane.

There were many ritualistic spells, pacts and so forth, but it was all worthless. None of them even hinted at being a Seal. There were no markings, secret words**,** or pictograms. Nothing.

She sighed.

"I don't know how you think we're going to be able to do this, Castiel," she said aloud, dropping her chin into her hand. "I have a feeling this is bigger than all of us."

There was no answer, but she imagined the Angel looking down at her with a pensive expression.

"Alright," she said, stretching her back and arms high in preparation for more long hours of futile reading. "I'll keep looking."

Slapping a hand down onto the pile of books Bobby had set out for her, Charlie opened one to its vast index and settled back to read.

* * *

_**Date: Middle of October, 2008.**_

_**Location: Rock Ridge, Colorado.**_

Charlie slid her bag into the back seat of the Impala, climbing in after it. The leather squeaked and settled under her, surprisingly cool despite the the warm rush of air drumming from the heater.

It had been just over a week since she'd seen the boys. A week where she had spent her days researching, making runs into town, exploring Bobby's yard, and helping him with his phones. The research had been a continual frustration of dead ends, the runs had involved interacting with people who wanted gossip about why such a young woman was staying at Bobby's, and the phones had proved interesting, but ultimately were not her favorite. She had a new respect for Bobby's tolerance of Hunters casually having the authorities ring Bobby at odd hours, interrupting important work. The only escape she had were her walks around the yard, and that often proved relaxing, if a little hazardous at times.

At the end of the ten days, the Seals had remained a mystery, Charlie was dreading the phones ringing, and she had slowly learned how not to talk to the townsfolk about anything they could use as gossip. There had also been no sign of Castiel for more information. She'd called once or twice in the hope of having something new to go on, but he was MIA.

On one of the days where she had been tempted to hit her head against the wall repeatedly, she had decided to text the boys to check on them.

They'd responded well enough. The first day or two were filled with stilted, polite answers that they were fine, everything was going well, and that they had a possible case near Pennsylvania. A day later, when they had actually started on the case, it was like they had been friends for years. Dean sent her pictures of giant mugs of beer and women in lederhosen, along with messages about movie monsters attacking people in the Pennsylvania area. Sam had sent her just as many pictures, only they were of Dean chugging the mugs of beer and flirting with the women in lederhosen.

Charlie had no clue what had changed between them, other than perhaps Sam's change of heart, but she was glad. She was also grateful that they were beginning to include her. Even if it meant putting up with a sudden (and personal) influx of texts from Dean. It had taken her some time to compose her response that, although Angels healed people, they perhaps didn't go quite as far as restoring sexual innocence, and that maybe it was a mindset, rather than a state-of-being. He seemed reluctant to agree.

There had been silence on the message side of things for a while after that. She had just begun to worry, when Sam sent a photo of Dean in lederhosen. When she could breathe again after her fit of laughter, she saved it as her background immediately.

A couple of days after that, Dean began to send her messages about a germophobe Sheriff, and a man who 'got his freak on' with reptiles, though she rather suspected he was exaggerating (_he named d damn snake marie charlie it aint right! - D)_.

A day later, it suddenly wasn't so funny anymore. Ghost Sickness. She had never heard of such a thing. Out of concern for the boys, and a building excitement to escape the odd routine she'd fallen into in Bobby's house, Charlie had accompanied the older man to help them out. When they'd finished getting rid of the Ghost and the sickness, she decided to stay for a while just to break the monotony of Sioux Falls drama.

The Impala rocked slightly when the boys joined her. Dean immediately turned on the radio, AC/DC blasting through the system, while Sam regaled the moment of Dean's girlish scream in the warehouse.

* * *

_**Date: October 29th, 2008.**_

_**Location: Jefferson, Oregon.**_

Due to her lack of appropriate 'FBI' attire, Charlie had to remain behind when Sam and Dean went to interview a Mrs. Wallace. She didn't mind. This close to Halloween, and with still no luck on the Seals, she had decided to utilize her time better by continuing to build her funds. Jefferson was not rich with charm shops, but there was always more than the eye could see.

A tinkling bell heralded her entrance into a small gift shop nestled between a Laundromat and deli on the main street. It was fairly modern, filled with shelves of worthless trinkets, fake jewelry, and Halloween souvenirs. It was clean and quiet, bar a small, glossy brown radio in a corner that sported a wonky antenna. When she passed it, the signal whirred, shifted to static and settled back to its smooth jazz station. The counter had two cardboard displays with samples of incense and key rings. A small, scuffed silver bell sat patiently in the center.

She tapped it once. It sang for a few seconds, fading just as a dark skinned woman came through a small archway that led to the back. Her hair was caught neatly in a bun, clothing loose and flowing and the color of autumn.

"Good afternoon," she intoned, voice smooth and pleasant, with a hint of inflection that Charlie couldn't place. "How may I help you?"

"Hi." Charlie pasted on her most polite smile. Shifting a small bag strapped across her shoulder, she continued. "I was hoping you needed someone to make some charms. I'm quite good, and need some quick cash." She tapped her fingers along the counter idly. This was the part she never liked. It was tedious. Hoodoo shops often struggled to find people who had a gift with making white magic charms. The owners were suspicious, unwilling to waste their time on those who didn't truly believe. Most failed in their tasks, thinking it was easy money, only to find the end result worthless. Charlie knew better. It could be quick, but it was never easy, and although any Magic failed her at the best of times, small things like this were perfect.

The woman narrowed her eyes, brow furrowing in apparent confusion. "I'm afraid I don't know what you are talking about." She waved a hand dismissively. "If you are not here to buy something, I suggest you leave, young lady."

Charlie sighed. The woman turned away. Charlie cleared her throat and pulled out a necklace. On it were two amulets for protection and safe travel. "Made them myself."

The woman turned back, leaning over to grasp the fine metal. A practiced thumb ran over the carving and symbols.

It was like a switch. The woman stood straighter, releasing the necklace and tilting her head in contemplation. "What is your name?"

"Charlie Crivens."

The woman tutted, smirking and shaking her head. "Silly girl. You should have started with that. I know your name. Word travels fast. I am Elani. Come, come. Inside. I'll show you the workroom."

* * *

Charlie jerked her head back to avoid the flying candy bar. It hit the door frame and dropped to the floor. Glaring at a sheepish Dean, she shed her jacket and closed the door.

"Sorry," he said, slurping loudly, before resuming his chewing of whatever sweet he'd found. "Thought you'd catch it."

She rolled her eyes, tossed her coat onto an arm of the cringe-inducing mint green couch Sam occupied, and sat on a bed. Sam, busy on his computer, ignored them. "My reflexes don't extend to catching whatever's flying at me. It's usually duck or get injured horrifically. Especially if it's thrown at my face," she chastised.

He stopped chewing with a thoughtful look. "Huh. Didn't think of that. Sorry." He resumed chewing, the sound wet and sticky, before tossing her another bar.

She caught it easily, but frowned. "Didn't the guy die from eating candy?"

"Yep, but we found a hex bag. So s'fine. More for me."

"It has some pretty old stuff in it," Sam said, holding up a coin as an example.

"Creepy stuff. I wouldn't touch the black bone. Newborn infant." Dean made a face, cheeks full. "Nasty. We also can't find out who's holding the grudge."

Charlie sighed, fingers fiddling with the wrapper. It crinkled loudly. "Perfect."

"Oh! Hang on." Dean practically bounced up from the chair, disappearing into the bathroom. When he came out, he was holding a suit, arranged neatly on a hanger. "Got this for ya. Figure you'd need one soon."

He turned it this way and that, opening and closing the jacket to reveal a pale cream blouse underneath. She raised an eyebrow at the folded trousers in the center, peeking out from the hem of the blouse.

"He was set on a skirt," Sam said without looking up, "but I convinced him to get pants."

Dean pursed his lips, arm wilting as he glared at his brother. "We don't have a girl with us often, Sam." He turned to Charlie with a look of supplication. "I thought we'd gain an advantage with a skirt. A bit of leg never hurt anyone."

Sam shook his head with a small smile, continuing to browse on his laptop. Charlie stood, narrowing her eyes at Dean, trying to keep a straight face. He finally sighed at her silence and thrust out the hanger. "Try it on. We had to guess your size but if it fits well, you can come with us if we have to go out again."

Charlie kept the straight face until she had the suit. Allowing the grin to spill forth, she chuckled at Dean's exasperated expression and went to the bathroom. "Thanks, Sam," she called, just before she shut the door.

"You're welcome!" the two replied, Dean's voice purposely firm and loud.

* * *

_**Date: October 30th, 2008.**_

The suit fit well. The jacket was slightly too big, but it allowed more freedom of movement. Digging into the bottom of her duffle, she found a pair of flat black shoes that would complete the ensemble. Her hair was brushed and clip free, one side curled around her ear to show just a slightly less severe countenance. It tended to put people off balance enough to set them at ease. She was the short, quiet Agent that followed the bigger boys around in this scenario.

She hadn't played FBI in a while. It was almost nice. The persona that came with the attire fit around her easily, so no one would pay much attention to her outside of a few curious looks. A flip of her badge and a raised eyebrow usually turned them away quickly enough.

The boys clomped down the stairs of the frat house in front of her, allowing her to give the impression of being someone dismissive by trailing behind. The scene was crawling with cops and forensics. The red and blue flashing across the party scene didn't distract her from her goal of searching for a hex bag, and she gave the apple bobbing basin a wide berth, even though she suspected it was no longer cursed. Sam busied himself at the couch while Dean interrogated the blonde friend of the girl who'd boiled in the basin. Charlie hunted for any nooks and crannies that would normally be overlooked.

A few minutes later, Sam caught their attention with a wave of the bag. Dean finished with the girl and they left.

* * *

Back in normal clothes and reclining on Dean's bed, Charlie hunted for what they were looking for in a thick volume the boys had dredged up from their mini car-library in the trunk of the Impala. The book was bloody worthless. Idly rubbing a thumb over the edge of the page, ready to turn, Charlie was struck by how useless she had been lately.

She'd been unable to help with Castiel when he had first appeared. She'd been unable to combat her parents Ghosts to release The Witnesses from their torment. She had found nothing in the books about the Seals, and she had been unable to help with the Ghost Sickness, bar hooking the chain up to Bobby's truck. She had even been unable to find any of the hex bags, and could find nothing about this case.

It was like she'd been slotted into another person's story. _What am I even _doing _here?_

A column of light breezed by the window, highlighting the gaudy walls; a car passed through the lot outside with a squelch of wet tires. The lines of text blurred, and Charlie relaxed her hands to let the book drop onto the bed. Closing her eyes and tilting her head back to rest against the headboard, she tried to see anything but the imprint of text behind her eyelids.

A rustle of clothing from Sam's vicinity wasn't enough to prompt her to move, but she listened carefully in case he'd found something important. Dean finally sighed. "I'm tellin' ya, both of these vics are squeaky clean. There's no reason for wicked witch payback."

"Maybe 'cause it's not about that."

There was a beat of silence. "Wow. Insightful."

Charlie snorted but Sam was quick to keep going.

"Maybe this witch isn't working a grudge. Maybe they're working a spell." Charlie rolled her head to watch him in an effort to show interest. "Check this out. '_Three blood sacrifices over three days."_ He stood, reading from the book as he walked. "_The last before midnight on the final day of the final harvest_.'." He huffed a laugh. "Celtic calendar. The final day of the final harvest is October thirty-first."

"Halloween," Dean surmised, taking the book and reading it for himself.

"Exactly." Sam took a seat. Charlie debated whether to move or not.

"What exactly are the, uh, blood sacrifices for?"

"Uh, if I'm right, this witch is summoning a Demon. And not just any Demon: Sam Hain."

Charlie blinked at the ceiling. Sam Hain? Who the hell was Sam Hain? Resigned to her curiosity, she swung her legs over the side and padded over in bare feet to take a seat beside Dean. Scrunching her nose at the mess on the table, she leaned over his arm to regard the depiction of -

_Samhain_, she thought with a roll of her eyes. _Not Sam Hain_.

"Am I supposed to be impressed?"

"Dean," Sam said in exasperation, "Sam Hain is the damn _origin_ of Halloween. The Celts believed that October thirty-first was the one night a year when the veil was thinnest between the living and the dead. And it was Sam Hain's night. I mean, masks were put on to hide from him, sweets left on doorsteps to appease him, faces carved into pumpkins to worship him. He was exorcised centuries ago."

"Sounds like one nasty fucker," Charlie murmured. Dean cast her a quick, but solemn look. Taking advantage of the attention, she added, "I also think it's pronounced, Sow-wen. Not Sam Hain."

She got a funny look from both of them.

"Does it matter?" Dean asked with a frown. Charlie went to answer 'yes', but Dean shook his head and continued. "So even though Sam Hain took a trip downstairs, the tradition stuck?"

Charlie blew out a quiet, frustrated breath. It was too late for this.

Sam nodded, leaning back in his seat, fingers fiddling at the wrappers on the table. "Exactly, only now, instead of Demons and blood orgies, Halloween is all about kids, candy, and costumes."

"Okay, so some witch wants to raise Sam Hain and take back the night?"

"Dean," Sam said firmly. "This is serious."

"I am serious," he defended, folding his fingers together to add to his look.

Sam frowned. "We're talking heavyweight witchcraft. This ritual can only be performed every six hundred years."

"And the six hundred year marker rolls around...?"

"Tomorrow night," Sam confirmed.

"Naturally. Well, it sure is a lot of death and destruction for one Demon."

"That's cause he likes company. Once he's raised, Sam Hain - "

"Samhain," Charlie corrected, for lack of anything to add to the conversation. She really, _really_ didn't like where this was going.

" - can do some raising of his own."

"Raising what exactly?" Dean asked, looking back to the book for clues.

"Dark, evil crap, and lots of it. Follows him around like the freakin' pied piper."

"So we're talking ghosts?"

"Yeah."

"Zombies?"

"Mmhm."

"Leprechauns?"

"Dean."

"Those little dudes are scary." He wiggled his fingers. "Small hands."

Sam leaned forward, gesturing with a firm hand. "Look. It just starts with Ghosts and Ghouls. This sucker keeps on going, by night's end? We're talking every awful thing we've ever seen. Everything we fight. All in one place."

"It's gonna be a slaughterhouse."

Charlie groaned. _Fuck._

* * *

_**Date: October 31st, 2008**_.

The bell tinkled when Charlie exited the shop into the damp air. Glancing around to take in anything suspicious, she began walking back toward the motel. Flipping open her phone, she sent a quick text to Sam. Elani had been willing to help, but could offer nothing about any strange activity in the area. Charlie warned her to keep a low profile and to stay indoors, just in case. The woman quickly understood the implications of raising a Demon that hadn't been worshiped in a few centuries, and promised to keep safe.

_Got nothing on my end. – C_

_Don't worry. Dean has something. Come back to the motel. – S_

* * *

Their talk with the teacher cemented the idea of the girl being the witch they were looking for. The young girl that Dean had interrogated earlier at the party had been easy to dismiss, Charlie being too focused on finding the hex bag to give her more attention. It was just unfortunate that they couldn't find her to stop her.

Although, Charlie felt a bit better about the situation after Dean's confrontation with the mini astronaut.

"I like that kid," she said, ignoring Dean's scowl and walking towards the door.

There was a sudden shout from Sam, who'd gone slightly ahead of them. "Who are you!?"

Charlie immediately slipped a hand to the back of her jeans, weapon out and safety off by the time Sam finished speaking.

"Sam! Sam, wait!" Dean rushed ahead of her, stopped abruptly, and forced Sam to lower his weapon. "It's Castiel. The Angel."

Charlie crossed the threshold of the door way warily, freezing when her eyes fixated on the other being by the back door.

Dean must have seen him as well, for his tone was as wary as her stance. "Him, I don't know."

Charlie clenched her jaw, arms tensing in preparation to fire in defense should this thing make a wrong move. It didn't matter that her gun probably wouldn't damage it - Castiel had proven even a Demon knife was useless against such a being - but still. Eyes roving quickly, she tried to take in as much as possible.

White-gray wings, somewhat translucent, were folded neatly at its back. They were smaller than Castiel's; long and narrow with no gaps between the tight feathers. _Built for speed_, she thought, at first glance. Something that would cut through the air. A dark skinned head didn't hide the bright entity that shimmered under the surface. This Angel - for it couldn't be anything else - was more in tune with its vessel. It was almost seamless. The stance was casual, hand in the pocket of the suit, staring out through the mesh curtain and glass, but it was countered by the sharp arcs of white power that embraced the form tightly, almost like an energy shield, or a second skin.

It was vastly different to Castiel's power. His was smoother, pulsing gently around his form, sporadic in places like a wave cresting the contours of the vessel he possessed. Castiel had frightened her with his display not too long ago. This one had her nervous before he even moved.

She nearly flinched when Castiel spoke. Thankfully, she was behind the boys, so no one but Castiel noticed. His quick glance was curious, and it flickered to the gun before it returned to Sam.

"Hello, Sam."

Charlie lowered the gun slowly.

Neither Charlie nor Dean could help but watch Sam stumble over his words. "Oh my god. Er - uh – I didn't mean to – sorry. It's an honor." He stepped forward and held out his hand. "Really. I've heard a lot about you."

Castiel stared. It was an awkward moment. Charlie made a small noise in the back of her throat to get his attention. A sharp glance. She made a movement with her free hand, purposely flicking her eyes to Sam's hand. _Take it._

It took a moment, and then he reached out and grasped it. Sam was the one to physically shake it. "And I you." Castiel turned Sams hand gently, now grasping it with both of his own, like a priest welcoming a newcomer into his flock. "Sam Winchester. The boy with the Demon blood."

_So close_, she thought with a small grimace. _Remember the tact, Castiel._

His jaw ticked down a fraction - an aborted movement to speak, perhaps - before he resumed. "I'm glad to hear you've ceased your extracurricular activities." _Okay, so it still needs work, but that was better._

Charlie was about to say 'well done', when the other being spoke. The voice was deep and sharp. Charlie's teeth clicked together with how quickly she shut her mouth. "Let's keep it that way."

"Yeah. Okay, chuckles," Dean responded flippantly. He looked away and back at Castiel with a curious frown and jerk of his chin. "Who's your friend?"

Castiel ignored the question. "The raising of Sam Hain, have you stopped it?"

"Samhain," Charlie corrected absently, belatedly realizing who she was correcting. She swallowed and looked away from the terror by the back door. "Sorry," she said softly, unable to look Castiel in the eye. She stared at his tie (curiously loose) for a moment, but he ignored her.

"Why?" Dean asked.

"Dean, have you located the witch?"

"Yes, we've located the witch," he parroted back, exasperated.

"And? Is the witch dead?"

"No," Sam replied quickly. "But – "

"We know who it is," Dean jumped in reassuringly.

"Apparently the witch knows who you are too." Castiel strode over to the bedside locker, picking up something and giving it a little shake. Charlie didn't follow his movements, unwilling to break her immediate line of sight of the other Angel several feet behind him. "This was inside the wall of your room. If we hadn't found it, surely one or all of you would be dead. Do you know where the witch is now?"

Charlie could see Dean and Sam look to each other out of the corner of her eye. Hesitant, Dean answered, "We're working on it."

"That's unfortunate," Castiel said immediately, like he had been expecting the answer.

"What do you care?" Dean again, curious, more than accusing, for which Charlie was glad.

Castiel looked to his companion, before turning back. "Raising of Sam Hain is one of the sixty-six Seals."

_Fuck._

"So this is about your buddy, Lucifer."

_Jesus Christ, Dean. Don't piss them off, _Charlie thought. The smooth handle of her gun was warm, her grip tight, but slick from sweat. Again, she was reminded of the uselessness of the weapon. It didn't stop her from keeping it to hand, though. Just for the moment.

The other one spoke again, wings twitching in – irritation? impatience? – she wasn't sure. "Lucifer is no friend of ours."

Charlie suspected that Dean had sent a strange look to the other being from the small pause that followed such a factual answer. "It's just an expression."

"Lucifer cannot rise," Castiel said firmly. He walked back over to look at Dean, and Charlie took a quick glance to see a hex bag in his grasp. "The breaking of the Seal must be prevented at all costs."

Dean nodded. "Okay. Great. Well, now that you're here, why don't you tell us where the witch is, we'll gank her, and everybody goes home."

_It's never that easy, _she thought. The other Angel appeared less tolerant as the conversation continued. His wings flared, before slowly folding back up. _Is he trying to control himself? Would he attack us in response to our - Dean's - impertinence?_

"We are not omnipotent. This witch is very powerful. She's cloaked even _our_ methods." Castiel sounded frustrated. Charlie frowned, casting a quick glance in his direction again. _A witch can hide from Angels?_

"Okay," Sam chimed in eagerly. "We already know who she is. So if we work together – "

Charlie took half a step back in reflex when the other Angel interrupted. "Enough of this."

Dean snapped. "Okay, who are you and why should I care!?"

The Angel turned, and Charlie felt her grip tightening so hard on her gun, she expected an imprint on the skin. Castiel sighed. "This is Uriel. He's what you might call... a specialist."

Uriel approached them, Charlie backing away until she had to sit abruptly on the edge of the table, lest she fall. It was meant to be casual, if a little stiff, and no one seemed to notice except the fleeting, and thankfully dismissive attention of Uriel. His eyes… Charlie forced back a shudder. They flickered between silver-white and the dark brown of his vessel. Underneath the cold, empty fury, there was a righteous superiority. She'd seen a gaze like that in many Humans before, but this was a divine soldier of war. It was a certainty in her mind that Uriel was one who relished in condemning Man in honor of God's wrath. He'd crush them under his holy boot with an upturned nose and very little thought.

"What kind of specialist?" Dean queried cautiously.

The Angels regarded each other in silence.

Charlie suspected that Dean had the same thoughts. What kind of specialist Angel was needed for preventing the breaking of a Seal? _Why_ was there even such a thing as a specialist Angel? "What are you gonna do?"

Castiel hesitated. "You, uh - all of you, you need to leave this town immediately."

_They wouldn't. _

"Why?"

"Because we're about to destroy it."

_They would._

There was a few minutes where Dean looked at them in disbelief. "So this is your plan? You're gonna smite the whole freakin' town?"

"We're out of time," Castiel answered. "This witch has to die. The Seal must be saved."

Charlie began to shake her head. _That - that's not right. That couldn't be _right.

"There are a thousand people here," Sam said, softly.

"One-thousand, two-hundred and fourteen," Uriel said, matter-of-factly. There was no remorse in his expression. No kindness. No mercy.

"And you're willing to kill them _all_?"

"This is not the first time I've... 'purified' a city."

Charlie frowned. "Why am I not surprised?" she muttered under her breath.

"Look," Castiel said. "I understand this is regrettable."

"Regrettable?" Dean responded, incredulously.

"We have to hold the line. Too many Seals have broken already."

"So you screwed the pooch on some Seals and now this town has to pay the price?"

"It's the lives of one thousand against the lives of six billion. There's a bigger picture here."

Something hot and sharp settled in her stomach. "_Don't,_" Charlie gritted out. Uriel frightened her, Castiel could intimidate her, but like hell she was going to let him - _a fucking Angel_ \- spout off anything about the needs of the many. That was bullshit.

There was silence, and Charlie had all the attention she would ever want in a lifetime. Uriel's gaze cut through her. His wings furled in tight, and his hands remained clasped in front. He didn't move, but she had no doubt that he could burn her alive with a thought.

Castiel was tense, expression severe**,** but he stayed silent. His wings, in contrast to Uriel's affronted posture, wilted, feathers brushing the floor with a whisper.

"Don't," she repeated firmly, forcing her gaze to remain on Castiel. His eyes were dark, and he didn't look away. "Don't spout that crap. No one's life should be more valuable than another's. Why do we deserve to live more than they do? Each person on this planet is a soul. They deserve to live just as much as the next."

Uriel answered her, his ethereal gaze unwavering, burning, metaphorically, into the side of her head when she refused to look at him. "You wouldn't think so kindly if you knew who deserved it. You wouldn't stop a murderer? A rapist? You wouldn't kill for justice, like you believe you do for the Monsters that roam 'this planet'? It is no hardship for me to smite a town. There are many here who deserve it."

"There are children here," she murmured quietly, eyes stinging at the thought of the little astronaut who'd taunted Dean several minutes before. That kid would never know why. He would never even see his short little life end. It just would. Finally breaking Castiel's gaze, Charlie slid her eyes to one side, not quite looking at anything in particular. She didn't know what made her say it, and some part of her screamed for her to bite her tongue, but she knew she meant every word. "I'll stop you if you try."

Uriel laughed, low and slow. "You can try," he agreed. "But I felt your fear the moment you crossed into this room. You fear me, greatly." He smiled wide. "I will be happy to show you your place."

"Whoa, easy, now," Dean said lowly, hands outstretched in a placating gesture. "As much as I agree with Charlie, no need to get so hostile."

Castiel tensed, crowding Dean. "Lucifer cannot rise. He does and Hell rises with him." He didn't look at Charlie again, but she suspected he was directing most of this to her. She understood completely, but it didn't mean she accepted it. "Is that something that you're willing to risk?"

"We'll stop this witch before she summons anyone," Sam interrupted hopefully. "Your Seal won't be broken, and no one has to die."

"You're wasting time with these mud monkeys," Uriel commented, posture more relaxed. Charlie gritted her teeth, hands clenching at the material of her jeans. His dismissive posturing was telling. He truly didn't see a point in continuing the conversation, and was quite happy to follow through with smiting the town regardless.

"I'm sorry. But we have our orders," Castiel said.

"But you can't do this," Sam protested weakly. "You're – you're _Angels_. Aren't you supposed to – " Uriel laughed quietly, derisively. "- you're supposed to show mercy."

"Says who?"

"We have no choice."

_There's always a choice, Cas. Always,_ Charlie thought silently, staring at the rough**,** wine-colored carpet.

"Of course you have a choice," Dean said quickly. "I mean, c'mon. What, you've never – never questioned a crap order, huh? You both just a couple of hammers?"

"Look, even if you can't understand it... _Have Faith._ The plan is just."

"How can you even say that?"

"Because it comes from Heaven. That makes it just."

Charlie laughed humorlessly. She'd heard that before. Granted, it came from people, but coming from Angels, it sounded worse. They were the one thing to make it true, which meant that Heaven wanted them to do this. Knuckles white, Charlie pressed her lips together. _This isn't _right.

"That must be nice," Dean mocked. "To be so sure of yourselves."

"Tell me something, Dean. When your father gave you an order, didn't you obey?"

Charlie glanced up to see Dean trying his best to keep his expression indifferent. Charlie didn't know what they were talking about, but the way Dean froze, the way his features darkened, his jaw ticking, hands clenching... He didn't seem to have expected that response. He stared hard at Castiel. "Well, sorry boys, looks like the plans have changed."

Uriel spoke, and Charlie could feel his fleeting gaze on her before it moved to the boys. "You think you can stop us."

"No. But if you're going to smite this whole town, then you're going to have to smite us with it, because we're not leaving." He looked from Uriel to Castiel. "See, you went to a lot of trouble to bust me out of Hell, I figure I'm worth something to the man upstairs."

Uriel's wings shifted in an aborted movement, his stare unwavering, his countenance unchanging. There was a small stand-off.

"You wanna waste me? Go ahead. See how He digs that."

"I will drag you out of here myself," the Angel growled.

"Yeah, but you'll have to kill me. Then we're back to the same problem. I mean, c'mon, you're gonna wipe out a whole town for one little witch? Sounds to me like you're compensatin' for somethin'."

Uriel didn't respond.

Dean turned to Castiel. "We can do this. We will find that witch, and we will stop the summoning."

"Castiel! Do not let these people – "

"Enough!" Castiel ground out sharply, raising a hand to his companion to stop. He stared hard at Dean. "I suggest you move quickly."

* * *

_**Date: November 1st, 2008.**_

The buttons of her phone swam in front of Charlie's tired eyes. Her stomach roiled, protesting her immediate leave of the motel this morning without breakfast. She didn't think she'd have been able to eat anyway. She had dressed, grabbed her phone and left without so much as a word to the boys. Hands shook as she dialed, head still throbbing from being tossed across the crypt the night before.

There was a hollow sound from the speaker for split second before the call connected, thrilling out a dull ring in her ear. The grass was damp against her ass, sandy boots squeaking against the blades when she moved her feet to curl up further against the rough bark of the tree. Her hip, bruised from the slide across the concrete, twinged in protest, and she pushed her forehead hard against her knees to block out the sun. Everything was too bright.

She listened to the rings in one ear, the sound of children playing nearby in the other. Chains rattled, swings squeaked, and the laughter… Charlie grimaced at the ache in her shoulders when they relaxed at the beautiful sound. It had been worth it. She'd seen something horrible, but the town was intact. The people in it, safe.

The rings stopped abruptly, replaced by Martha's familiar cadence. "Charlie?"

Charlie released a shaky breath. "Hey, Martha."

"You sound like hell."

A dry laugh. "Yeah. I feel like it."

"What happened? You okay?"

"I'm fine. I just - I just wanted to talk, that's all."

Martha's voice turned stern. "What happened?"

Closing her eyes, Charlie braced for the sun when she tipped her head back against the tree. The bark was rough against her tender skull. The light turned the inside of her eyelids bright pink. She began to explain the case and what had happened. "We couldn't stop him from rising, but he's dead now. Not too much damage."

Martha was quiet.

Charlie sighed, free hand picking at loose threads of her jeans. "The things I see, Martha…" she whispered. "His face was… it was terrible. A dark smoke, snaked around old, cracked features. It was grotesque, like a twisted animal. Skin crevesses that oozed blood and God knew what. He was slow, too. Sluggish, and unco-ordinated. Nowhere near as quick as the other Demons we've encountered." And what she'd seen in Sam… He was bad with the unnatural whatever-it-was underneath his skin, but to see him use the power… It changed him. Even looking at him doing it from behind, she could tell the aura around him was just... _wrong._

"You think there's somethin' different about them?" Martha responded softly.

Charlie blinked to clear her thoughts. "No, not really. I think he was just… old. I mean, how come he didn't rise with the others at the Hellgate?"

"Maybe he wasn't as strong as you thought."

Charlie lifted her head from the bark and shook it in the negative, the motion making her vision spin. The world tilted for a moment, and her stomach jolted. Taking a slow, shallow breath, she tried to keep the nausea at bay. "I don't think so. He was very strong. Stronger than anything I've come across. Maybe he was buried deep or something. So deep, he was asleep. The ritual could only be done every six hundred years, I suppose."

Martha hummed, and Charlie heard a rattle of pots in the background. Probably making breakfast at this hour. "I suppose," she agreed.

Charlie bounced a knee, turning her head when she heard a familiar voice. Was that Dean? "I think I'm in over my head here, Martha."

The rattling pots was replaced by the running of water. "What do you mean, hun?"

Peeking around the base of the tree, Charlie leaned on a root and watched the exchange between Dean and Castiel on a bench behind her. She half listened, picking out bits and pieces of their conversation. Martha waited patiently on the other end. "Well, for one, I don't have a clue about how many Seals are out there, or how many have been broken so far. I only know there's sixty-six, and another one has just been broken. How many is that now?" Charlie frowned, shifting until she could watch the two on the bench more comfortably. "Also, the Angels' orders were to follow Dean's orders but… surely they could have just killed the witch once we told them where she could be."

The noise stopped. Martha was paying attention now. "Go on."

Castiel and Dean finished talking. Dean looked away and Castiel seemed to shimmer in his seat. When Dean looked back, he frowned, glanced around and looked away again. Charlie narrowed her eyes. She suspected he could no longer see the Angel. "It just sounds funny, is all. They could have gone to kill her. No hardship, according to the 'specialist' Angel, to smite a town, so surely it would be the same for the witch. Why just let us go? Why trust us, at all, to stop it? And there were two witches. Killing either brought Samhain up, so it was a lose-lose situation. Smiting them would have probably counted as a sacrifice too. Like, it's like it was going to happen anyway, even if the Angels had gone instead."

Martha sighed. It was a sigh that sounded like a lot of things Charlie was feeling; confusion, tiredness, uncertainty, resignation. How was she supposed to figure out what Angels wanted? "It sounds odd, alright, but what can we do?"

Charlie watched the back of Castiel. He was regarding the children in the playground, an overall quietness about his posture, but his wings were tight to his back, shoulders tense. This was what an Angel with doubts looked like. "I don't know. But I know one thing: there's definitely a bigger picture here. I'm just not sure whose."

* * *

_A/N: Some place names are chosen by myself since I could get no clear locations for some episodes, so if you think it's grossly wrong, let me know! ZeB xx_


	6. Desperation

"_Everything… affects everything." ― Jay Asher__._

**6\. Desperation**

_**Date: November, 2008.**_

_**Location: Bobby's house.**_

The message winked into existence in one corner of the screen with a cheerful tone from the weak speakers.

**AngelLover58: **_Is this Charlie?_

Blinking at the sudden interruption, she glanced to the side to see Bobby engrossed in a book behind his desk. Charlie put down the pen she was using to take notes, and she let her fingers hover over the mouse pad on Bobby's laptop. Swiping the pad of her finger, she clicked into the reply box, cursor blinking while she thought about how to respond.

It had been less than a week since she had left the boys after the Samhain incident: Bobby had called her back after a day when he'd gotten a new shipment of books he needed to wade through. Charlie also decided against continuing with Sam and Dean, considering what had happened with Samhain. Everything was so new. Angels, ancient Demons, The Devil on the rise... In an effort to collect her thoughts, Charlie had opted to use the time in Bobby's house to do some research of her own.

After a few days of searching through books, though, she thought that maybe the modern route was the way to go for quicker answers, so she had browsed the web until she'd come across some avid fans of all things Angelic and supernatural.

This message in particular was from a Forum about the Apocalypse. It included everything from Demons to Angels with all sorts in between. Charlie had managed to narrow it down to a page of people who'd reported recent Angel sightings, and those who were adamant that Angels were once more roaming the Earth in hordes that hadn't been since Noah's Flood. Most of the members were odd or slightly deranged, but there were one or two 'genuine sources' (ie: the few in many that didn't come across as instant Looney Toons when she'd initiated conversation).

It had taken two days to track down someone who seemed to know what they were talking about, but 'JJTrickster' had hit her limit after a day or so. The woman's focus was centered around the Apocalypse, and her knowledge of Angels was somewhat limited. JJ had told Charlie she would try to find more, or, if it came to it, pass along her information to someone else who could help, and they would get in touch via messaging.

**AngelLover58: **_Hello?_

It looked like JJ had pulled through. Charlie had received a brief email this morning to say someone would contact her today.

**Researchgal27: **_Hello. Yes, this is Charlie._

Charlie grimaced at her own username. The internet was helpful, but some of it was ridiculous.

**AngelLover58: **_I'm Ava. I believe we have a mutual friend; JJTrickster._

**Researchgal27: **_Yes. I assume you're contacting me because you can help me._

**AngelLover58: **_Yes. JJ said you needed information. _

**Researchgal27: **_Yes, please._ _I need to know anything and everything about Angels._

**AngelLover58: **_That's quite a request. Where would you like to start?_

Charlie raised her eyebrows slowly. She really hoped this was worth it. About to type out a reply, Charlie stopped at the sudden feeling of someone watching her. It was Bobby. His frown was a touch severe for someone who'd barely said anything to her all week, bar "Are you alright?" every time she came back from another room. She had also begun to notice the more frequent occurrence of this new staring thing of his. She wondered if it was becoming a hobby.

God, she hoped not. "What are you staring at, Bobby?"

He shook his head and stood. "Nothin'. I'm goin' to get a beer."

"Congratulations."

"Don't get smart with me, missy," he grumbled, lumbering off to the kitchen. She smirked, and turned back to the screen.

**Researchgal27: **_Just tell me what you know, please. I know very little about them, so anything is helpful._

**AngelLover58: **_Very well._

_**AngelLover58 is writing...**_

Charlie sucked on her lower lip, teeth gently digging into the skin. Not the most enthusiastic person she'd ever met, this AngelLover58. Scraping the table with a bitten down nail, she waited. Bobby returned with two beers. He popped a cap off one and planted the other down on the table beside her. Charlie watched the condensation run down the glass for a moment, before tracing her fingers across the sodden label. She flicked her gaze up to watch the older man. "What's up with you, Bobby?"

He turned and leaned on his desk, beer in one hand, the other hand sliding into the pocket of his jeans, crumpling up one end of his shirt. He took a long pull from the bottle. "Don't know what you're talkin' about."

Charlie rolled her eyes, taking a sip of her own beer. The bubbles rasped along her tongue and down her throat, the bitter tang coating her taste buds. "Bullshit. You don't think I've noticed you following me around? If I leave the room, you ask where I'm goin'. If I come back, you ask where I've been and if I'm alright." She pointed the neck of the bottle at him. "Every morning you've stopped me to give me a once over like I've been hurt or – " She stopped as it hit her, causing her to slump back in her chair. "Shit. Martha told you, didn't she? I knew she would, but not this _soon_."

He scowled and ground out, "Yeah, she did. She told me not to talk about it unless _you_ did, and now it's out there. So, you mind tellin' me what the hell you were thinkin'?"

Charlie sighed and took another sip of beer. It was a futile distraction, because there was no way she could enjoy the drink with this conversation. A cheap bear to begin with, it now tasted like carbonated ash. "I wasn't, to tell the truth. I was tired of thinking."

"_So you tried to kill yourself?_"

She flinched. Martha had been firm, but strangely quiet when she said it. Bobby's voice whipped across the air. Feeling the room begin to press in on her, Charlie responded softly, "I didn't know what else to do, Bobby."

"Horseshit!" He thrust out his hands, bear sloshing to spray over the floor. "You _tell_ someone. Hell, we all woulda helped ya. Why didn't you come to us?"

Charlie looked away, pressing her lips together. "I didn't know how. I didn't know what to say - "

"Say anything."

She dragged a thumb across the label, shredding the corners, the material wrinkling in the condensation. "I shut down."

There was a pause. When he spoke again, it was quieter. "What do you mean?"

Biting her lip harder, Charlie released it and blew out a harsh breath. "I don't - I just… I have these moments. Moments where I go numb. They come out of nowhere. My brain turns off, my feelings are wiped clean**,** and I can't feel much of anything. The world becomes this muted thing, graying at the edges…" There was a ping on the laptop. Charlie ignored it for now, folding the screen down half way.

"How often do you get like that?"

She shook her head and shrugged. "I dunno. There's no pattern to it. It just hits me like a truck. I'd be fine one minute and the next… Martha says it's like I've just shut everything down. Blank face, blank eyes, barely responsive."

"Christ." Charlie looked up to see him rub a hand over his face, before joining her at the table. He pushed his beer aside. "Did you get tested? Is it medical?"

"Yes, and no. Martha brought me to doctors when I was a kid**,** but they couldn't find anything. They referred me to a psychiatrist**,** but they didn't find anything either. Didn't know what to diagnose me with." She took a large gulp of her beer. "Hell, they even tried half a dozen sessions of electroshock therapy. Martha was against it, but I pushed for it out of desperation. Didn't work though. If anything, it made it worse for a while." She had spent three weeks in and out of hospital due to unexplained fits. Her brain chemistry had been fine. It hadn't been until Martha had brought her to Missouri, that the psychic had told them it was affecting Charlie spiritually, but again, they had no explanation as to why.

Bobby shook his head, eyebrows drawn together. Charlie smiled softly and reached over to rub the spot right between them. "Did you know this is called the glabella? Weird name."

"Charlie."

She sat back and looked away. "Sorry." She hesitated, seeing him at a loss as to what to say, but she wanted to continue. Something in her screamed to talk about it, to release it to _someone_. Anyone. _Just say it_. She swallowed and leaned forward, eyes downcast to the old wooden surface. "Have you ever felt…" she stumbled trying to find the right word for it, "_wrong_?"

His mouth parted, and his shoulders dropped. "What do you mean?"

Charlie swallowed again, harder, hands tightening on the bottle, and cheeks growing hot. "_I feel wrong," _she whispered.

"Jesus, Charlie. What the heck are you talkin' about, girl?"

She shook her head rapidly, swiping away the wetness on her cheeks. "No, listen to me Bobby. I mean it. It's not some sort of depressed viewpoint of the world. I genuinely feel that I'm wrong. I've felt it all my life. Something there," she pointed at her heart, "that doesn't quite fit with the rest of the world. Like I'm a hairsbreadth shy of being in sync with everyone else."

"Well, everyone feels that way sometimes, kid. Don't mean nothin'."

"No!" She closed her eyes, startled by her own volume. Grabbing Bobby's arm, she dug her fingers into the skin below his rolled up sleeve. "No, you don't understand. I - " _God, should she tell him? Could she? _Opening her eyes, she focused on his gaze. "I feel empty, like I'm missing something, and I feel it _all the time_. I don't know why, but I think it's got something to do with - " she paused, struggling to let the information go. Finally, she forced herself to speak. "I see things, Bobby. Things that other people can't see."

He froze, eyes cutting to the side before landing on her face again. "This isn't some Sixth Sense shit you're pullin', is it? You see dead people, and all that crock?"

"No," she growled, leaning back and releasing his arm. She slid her bottle to one side, the rough surface dragging along the glass bottom. "I'm being serious. My mother used to think it was a gift from God. That I was blessed with holy sight, or some bullshit."

Bobby still didn't look entirely convinced. "And were you?"

Charlie shrugged. "I don't know. I believed her at first. How could I not? I was a kid. She kept spouting on about how I'd see the Guardians, or the pure Spirits of people around me. Sometimes I saw other people's loved ones that had died but stayed behind."

"Ghosts?"

"Yeah."

"But, everyone can see a Ghost if they want to be seen."

"Yeah, but I could see them when they didn't. I don't remember a lot of it, but I remember that I never _didn't_ see them. It was normal for me. But then I went out more, started going to school and suddenly, I saw more. I saw people pretending to be normal, but underneath there was this oddness that frightened me. Something not right about them. Turns out they were Monsters. Mama called them Others, but I could see how frightened she was, especially when I started _talking_ about it. I told anyone and everyone because I thought it was normal. I thought that's what everyone saw."

Bobby blew out a breath, shaking his head. "So she tried to beat it outta ya. Her and the ol' man."

Charlie nodded, tracing the grain on the table. "Yeah. It went from gift to curse. I wasn't allowed out except to go to school. I was confined to my room because my father blamed my mother for having an abomination like me, and my mother blamed me for driving my father to drink and violence. They began to resent me. I was a freak."

Bobby leaned back, taking off his hat to run a hand through his hair. His scowl was fierce, and movements tense. His voice, when he spoke, was practically a growl. "It ain't right to do that to a kid."

"They didn't know any better. They were ignorant and afraid. They just made the wrong choice in dealing with it. They realised that too late when my Nana came after them. She'd died a few months before my ninth birthday. She always tried to protect me, even in death."

"That still don't make it right, Charlie. Ignorance is no excuse to beat a child." He stopped when he realized what else she'd said. "Wait, your Nana? She was the Poltergeist that Martha got rid of?"

"Yeah. Martha knows I can see things. Her, her husband Roy, and Beth, but that's it, bar you**,** now. I've tried to keep it hidden. I didn't… I didn't want people treating me like a freak."

He frowned. "You're not a freak, Charlie."

She just nodded. Another ping called out to the room from the computer. They ignored it. After a few minutes of silence, Bobby spoke again. "So, what do you see?"

She smirked. "A lot of things, although I tried to train myself to block some of it out."

"What do you mean?"

She scratched her neck, absently. "If something knew I saw it for what it was, it made me a target, so Martha sent me to a woman who taught me to meditate to try and put up some barriers. They block a lot of stuff like random Ghosts and Monsters unless I'm looking for one. Some things, though, are harder to block out."

"Like what?"

"Demons, and a more recent discovery, Angels."

"Shit, you see those idgits?"

Charlie chuckled. "Yup, I do indeed. Lesser Demons, I usually just see the eyes, and sometimes I don't even see that. More powerful ones though, like Samhain; you can't unsee shit like that."

Flipping his hat back on, Bobby leaned forward onto an elbow, fingers scratching through the scruff of his beard. "Huh. Wait. That means you saw featherhead back in the warehouse. Jesus, no wonder you didn't move. What did he look like? And you better tell me something good, 'cause that bastard burned out Pam's eyes."

Charlie hesitated. "I don't know how to describe what an Angel truly looks like. Even what I saw - and I don't know how to describe even that - well, I don't think I saw everything. He was surging up out of the vessel like he couldn't quite figure it out, and he was big, and bright, and full of shapes and energy that may have fried my brain a little. In the vessel, however, there's no halo or robes, and I think they might all be different, but there's definitely wings. I've only met two." Charlie took another swig of beer, gesturing with one hand. "I can see their power, sort of. Their Grace, I think they call it. It's like a shield of energy wrapped around them, stemming from their chest or throat. Sometimes, I can see them shifting underneath the skin, but it's like trying to watch a channel through static. It wavers and changes, and sometimes you think you can make out a shape, only for it to vanish again."

He hummed, pursing his lips in consternation. Charlie sighed, hearing the laptop ping twice in quick succession. Crap. She better get back to the woman. She pushed up the screen, but hesitated. "Uh, Bobby… about what I'm telling you; please don't tell anyone else. Ever."

He sighed, picking up his beer and taking a sip. With a grimace at the now warm beverage, he answered, "I won't. Not unless you tell me to." He stood, walking back over to his desk. "This is a lot of shit in one day and I still got stuff to do."

The laptop pinged again. Charlie grimaced, hoping the woman wasn't pissed for being left for so long.

**AngelLover58: **_This is a mixture of what I know and what I believe. I believe most of it is true, but there are limits to the human capabilities of perceiving the realm of God, Demons and Monsters._ _What I am sharing with you is important and confidential. I have been hearing things lately that are causing me concern. JJ has vouched for your sincerity, and also urgency. _

**AngelLover58**: _God created the Angels before He created Man. He created four Archangels; Lucifer, Gabriel, Michael and Raphael. After the main four, He created many others that performed many tasks. They have their own hierarchy, but a lot of the Angels that interact with Man are the lowest ranking; often soldiers sent out to do God's work. When Man was created, God demanded the Angels bow down to serve them, for they were his greatest creation to be protected. Many Angels did as He asked of them; all but Lucifer. At least that's what's said. There may be others, but there's no way to tell one from another; it's mostly speculation from scriptures or outside sources. Now, Lucifer refused, and his brother, Michael, was tasked with casting him down from Heaven, where Lucifer took revenge by twisting and corrupting a human soul to create the first Demon._

**AngelLover58**: _To punish him for his crimes, God created a prison for him to reside in. Surrounding this prison was a new Realm termed Hell, and he has resided there ever since, trapped until his release. Hell is overrun with souls that have been twisted and tortured. Many are believed to have become the Demons we know today. I must go soon but I will say this; I get most of my information from outside sources. They are in frequent contact with Other Beings (namely Angels) at my request, but I am a source of information myself. I am one of few in this world that can perceive an Angels true form and voice. It is an honor to be chosen and I am happy to help you in any way I can, but I ask that you be honest with me. JJ has told me some of the questions you have and I am concerned about the path you have chosen to follow. If this information is used for nefarious purposes to harm God's creations, I will have to take action against you. I will warn you now that I am a woman of experience in the ways of the Angels and God._

**AngelLover58**: _You have not responded in some time. _

**AngelLover58**: _Do I make myself clear?_

Charlie quickly tapped out an affirmative reply to appease the woman before she smote her through the screen. The woman - _Ava_ \- seeming satisfied, logged off with a promise to keep in touch. Charlie was aware of the phone ringing, and Bobby passing her to go into the kitchen to answer, but she could only stare at the screen, slightly disturbed. _What have I gotten into now?_

* * *

_**Date: November 11th, 2008.**_

_**Location: Bobby's house - Panic room.**_

Charlie sank onto the cot slowly, eyes fixed on Anna in the chair near the door. The shadows from the rotating fan of Bobby's panic room played across the girls solemn features. Curled up tight, she played with the hex bag Ruby had made. A similar one sat snugly in Charlie's back pocket, squashed against the sheets under her. They were waiting for Pamela and the boys.

"Six hundred Seals?" Charlie intoned incredulously.

Anna looked up, nodding. "More than you thought?"

_A hell of a lot more_. "You could say that." Charlie frowned, leaning back against the salt-iron wall. It was cold against her skin, even through her worn fleece hoodie and poor perception of temperature. She shook her head in confusion. "But that makes it impossible."

Anna nodded again, uncurling a bit more. "I know. That's why the Angels are losing."

"Who the fuck came up with the idea to have six hundred Seals and have someone only have to break sixty-six of them?"

Anna smiled, but it was bordering on sad. She was still trying to piece together what was going on. "I don't know."

Charlie folded her arms tightly, distractedly jutting her jaw side to side to stretch the tendons. _Six hundred Seals?_ _Six hundred Seals_. "But that's _impossible_."

"Repeating it isn't going to make it better."

"No, you don't understand." She let her arms fall, and leaned forward to dig through her back pocket for the hex bag. She allowed her hands to play with the string, the material, anything for something to do. "That's a no-win situation. There's no way to predict that. At all. Not unless you had someone on the inside, close to Lilith, or Divine knowledge or something. And if they had Divine knowledge, surely they'd know _exactly_ which ones were going to be chosen."

Anna shrugged helplessly. "They're still trying."

Charlie's stomach sank, and her chest felt tight. She had a sudden, solidifying thought; they weren't going to win. Whatever the Angels could do, it wouldn't be enough.

Anna was quiet for a moment.

Footsteps sounded down the basement stairs.

"We're here!" Dean called.

Sam moved away from Ruby and the door to the panic room. "Pamela. Hey!"

"Sam."

He moved to greet her cautiously, arms outstretched for her to latch onto. "Yeah, it's me, it's Sam."

Anna stood and Charlie followed, staying just to one side to watch. Pamela's voice was tentative and hopeful. "Sam?"

"Yeah."

"Sam, is that you?"

"I'm right here."

"Oh. Know how I can tell?" There was a pause, in which Pamela smacked Sam on his ass. "That perky little ass of yours," she smirked. Sam jumped, body tensing at the unexpected gesture. His mouth opened, struggling to produce something coherent in an effort to dispel the mortified blush now staining his cheeks. He pointedly avoided looking at his brother until he got the flush under control.

Charlie shook her head bemusedly at the woman's antics, mind still preoccupied with the thought of losing everything despite the Angels efforts to stop it. Again, she was struck with the strange out of sync feeling she'd felt back in the motel when they were researching Samhain. The feeling that she was in some sort of set up; a skewed kind of pseudo path like Fate or Destiny that was slightly off with everything else. _What's the point of it all?_

"You could bounce a nickel off that thing," Pamela continued, laughing. "Of course I know it's you, grumpy. Same way I know that that's a Demon and…" she paused, looking at Anna. "That poor girl's Anna. And you've been eyeing my rack." Sam stumbled over his words while Pamela laughed. "Don't sweat it, kiddo. I've still got more senses than most." She made her way over to Anna but paused, head tilted towards Charlie. "You… you I feel I should know, but I don't. Now why is that?"

Charlie was feeling, inexplicably, a little dizzy, but she focused on the woman, wondering what it meant that a powerful blind psychic didn't know who she was. Charlie felt the middle of her forehead begin to ache at how much frowning she was doing. "I've never met you before."

"That's Charlie," Dean supplied.

Pamela hummed thoughtfully. "I'd like to talk to you after this, hun." She raised a pointed eyebrow. "In private."

Slipping the hex bag back into her pocket, Charlie nodded slowly. "Alright."

* * *

"What did you see?" The question was flippant but soft, footsteps crunching over gravel as the person approached.

Charlie, arms folded and expression tight, leaned against the hood of a wrecked car outside Bobby's house. The evening was quiet. Head down to watch the scuffed toes of her boots, Charlie ignored her.

"You gonna answer me, girl, or do I gotta pull it outta ya?"

She turned her head to see Pamela standing there, hip cocked, waiting impatiently. "I don't know what you're talking about."

The older woman laughed derisively. "Nice try, but I ain't gonna fall for that line. You need me to be more specific? Fine. What did you see in the panic room when Anna was having her little fit of remembrance?"

Charlie sighed, and raised an eyebrow. "Would you believe, 'nothing'?"

Pamela smirked, crossing in front to settle beside her on the hood. She bumped Charlie's shoulder playfully. Charlie tensed at the contact, inching away. "Try again."

"I didn't see her like I see the others."

"You're gonna have to help me out on that one."

Charlie blinked when a breeze wafted across the yard to disturb her hair. Tilting her head so her chin rubbed on the rough collar of Dean's borrowed leather jacket, she spoke. "She only had the remnants of her wings. They were Ghost-like. An afterimage of what was there, but it disappeared when she stopped freaking out. Other than that, she looks normal. No glowy eyes, no cloak of power around her. Nothing. I would've never known." Just like Micah. Where there many others like this?

Pamela was quiet for a few minutes. "You've got a gift," she began, "but there's something odd about you."

Charlie clenched her jaw, fingers tightening on the jacket. The soft leather yielded easily, and she eased up in apology. Dean's jacket was keeping her warm, there was no need to abuse it.

"Now don't get all tense about it. I'm tryin' to help." The psychic sighed again, shaking her head. "Look. I've met gifted people, and I've met crazy people. You're something entirely different."

"What the hell does that mean?" Charlie said incredulously.

"It means," she chastised, elbowing Charlie sharply, "that you're not normal. I can't see you like I see others. It's like you're almost out of sync - glitchy - like tryin' to tune into a station and getting this hazy image that you know should be sharper on this frequency."

There was a beat of silence. Charlie's heart began to thump so hard against her sternum that it hurt. That was an eerily familiar description. She glared at the older woman, leaning away to stay out of her reach. "Don't tell me I'm some fuckin' Angel wannabe or something," she snapped. "The Angels have no interest in me. They don't even notice me so how, exactly, is this helping?"

Pamela, in contrast, remained unfazed by her ire. "I wanted you to know that you're not normal - "

"Like I don't fucking know that - "

" - and that I want you to find out why," she finished loudly, scowling at Charlie's interruption.

Charlie stopped, blinking in confusion. "What?"

Pamela turned to her, grabbing an arm with strong, thin fingers. Charlie flinched again, tensing and already trying to pull away. Why did people touch so much? Pamela held on. "When I tell you that you're not normal, that means something, because I've spent my life with things that aren't normal. It means that you are beyond the scope of what I consider strange, kiddo. I can't _see you_, Charlie. I can't see anything about you. No past, no future, nothing. I see you in this time, but that's it. Do you understand what I'm tellin' you?"

_Oh God. I'm not even normally abnormal? _

Pamela sighed, releasing her to stand. "Give me your number and I'll keep in touch. In the meantime, I want you to try and find out what's happening with you, because it can't be good. For you or the boys. They have enough to deal with without something as unpredictable as you."

Charlie barely restrained herself from snatching Pamela's phone, jerkily typing in and saving her number, her mind racing in an attempt to absorb whatever this conversation was. Some_thing, _not some_one_? She was unpredictable? Abnormal, even for a damn powerful psychic? She couldn't be seen?

_But I'm here,_ she thought. _I'm just me. I'm just Charlie._

Pamela snapped her phone shut and began walking away. Charlie let her.

* * *

_**Date: November 19th, 2008.**_

_**Location: Kentucky - an abandoned barn.**_

_Cas is going to die…_

It made no sense, logically. She knew shit about Demons at times, and even less about Angels, but from the looks of it, Alastair, chanting something she had never heard before, was slowly choking the light from the Angel. He looked like he was being _pushed away_. A forceful expulsion from his body - or this plane of existence, or life itself, she wasn't sure. All she knew was that it looked painful, and so very, very wrong.

Dean reacted first, grabbing a crowbar from the floor to swing hard at the Demon's head. Castiel thumped back to the floor looking dazed. The sudden cessation of Alastair's chanting was like a switch; the Angel ricocheted back like an elastic band, but seemed to struggle for a brief moment in regaining his equilibrium.

Just like Castiel's abrupt revival, Charlie's mind finally caught up to her body. Moving quickly, she shot forward and skidded to a knee behind him, grabbing fistfuls of his coat and suit to forcefully drag him out of the line of fire. He allowed her, before he recovered enough to push himself to sit up.

What happened next was surreal. Anna violently threw down the vial containing her essence, the glass smashing easily to release the blue-white mist. It vortexed up to enter her body, and then she collapsed, jerking fitfully.

"Shut your eyes," she pleaded desperately, hunching forward. Still gripping Castiel's shoulders, Charlie felt something steal her breath when the light curled up and around Anna's shoulders to form her missing wings. They thrust outwards with a snap and she stood, the appendages taught against the flow of sudden power. Arching back, she called out again, "_Shut your eyes!"_

Sam and Dean threw up an arm against the blast of blinding light. Alastair growled, walking forward to attack, but the light engulfed him without a sound.

Charlie struggled to breathe. Something hot ran down her cheeks and over her lips, dripping off the end of her chin. Her vision darkened, the light reaching out spindly arcs to creep into her skin and _pull_. A tear opened up behind Anna, the wind coming out of it rushing across her and Castiel, but Charlie couldn't feel it. There was only a cold burn licking across her skin. With a great beat of her newly restored wings, Anna vanished into the gap, the tear sealing up behind her with a small arc of jagged white light.

Charlie, unable to stop herself, listed sideways, numb fingers slipping from their grip on Castiel. Her side hit the unforgiving floor, her body continuing its course until she was on her back. Her mouth worked to find air, throat constricting against the freezing atmosphere that seemed to be trying to suck out her very soul. She had never felt cold like this before.

_You're dying, _a voice whispered in her mind.

Eyes wide, taking in the barn's decrepit wooden ceiling, Charlie felt something begin to rip deep inside. Her back arched taught, and a horrible wail echoed through the room.

Voices, muted and distant called to her.

"_Charlie!"_

"_Charlie, _breathe!"

Her lungs were burning. The cold drowned her. The barn began to grow dark.

Suddenly a hand slipped under her shirt, pressing flat against her left side -

The pain seared through her skin like a brand.

She screamed.

* * *

There was a light, hot weight on her forehead and across her chest. The air smelled damp with rain, and somewhere a bird was singing.

The weight on her forehead moved slightly, and Charlie realized it was someone's hand. Frowning, she tried to shift her body, the sound of squeaking leather distantly familiar, only for something to tighten on her shoulder to stop her.

With a deep indrawn breath, Charlie opened her eyes…

Only to see Castiel above her. Her head rested on his lap, one of his hands on her head, and an arm firmly across her chest to anchor her by the shoulder on the back seat of Dean's Impala. He was looking into the distance, eyes glazed.

Her eyebrows drew together in a small frown. The Angel said nothing, watching her with sharp eyes and a neutral expression. _What are you thinking about? How'd I end up here? Where are Sam and Dean?_

With the last thought, Castiel blinked, and turned his head pointedly to look outside, and Charlie finally registered familiar voices among the bird song. The Angel turned his head back to its original spot, mind preoccupied. He didn't look at her.

A few moments passed in continued silence, and Charlie began to feel a strangeness; the same strangeness that always found her, sinking into her bones and driving her body and mind to shut down. Only now there was something else: a tingling sensation, beginning just at her ribs on her left hand side, expanding outwards where it started to burn across her skin. She pressed her head back into Castiel's thigh in an effort to escape it.

His thumb moved almost absently, stroking across the skin of her forehead a few times. She distantly wondered if he understood it to be a comforting gesture. Was it a universal instinct? Was it a prompt from his vessel?

_There's something wrong with me,_ she thought, unable to force the words out. The tingling tapered off, skin now numbed by the darkness slowly swelling up to drown her.

Castiel didn't respond. Could he hear her? Did he see what was happening? Did he know she was slowly losing herself?

_I'm not strong enough to stop it. I never was..._

In the silence, they listened to the boys talk about Dean's horror in Hell. At the back of her mind, Charlie knew she should be feeling more, but this emptiness was familiar and strong, pulling and weighing down her limbs. This emptiness was what frightened Martha and Beth enough to watch her closely throughout her visits. If they hadn't, Charlie would have been successful in ending her life.

Castiel faltered in his strokes, frowning but keeping his focus on the boys. His jaw ticked before he resumed his gesture of comfort. Soon she began to drift off.

Before she was fully under, she turned her head, inhaling deeply to release a sigh. The scent she received instead was odd. Although it looked like air outside was damp, it didn't permeate the car.

It was the Angel.

"You smell like rain," she murmured, on the cusp of unconsciousness. The thumb paused again, and then he threaded his entire hand through her hair once before slipping out from under her and vanishing.


	7. Relics and Redemption

"_I felt very still and empty, the way the eye of a tornado must feel, moving dully along in the middle of the surrounding hullabaloo." – Silvia Plath_

**7\. Relics and Redemption**

_**Date: November 23rd, 2008.**_

_**Location: Bobby's house - library/study.**_

Charlie blinked very slowly, staring at a worn coffee table in front of the couch. Distantly, she traced the material of the couch with her left hand, fingers running back and forth, numb to the texture. It was daytime now, this much she knew. The light was brighter, the colors a less muted gray than before.

There was a firm knock at the door. The man - the only other person in the room - having been standing to one side watching her for the last half hour, quickly moved out of the room and down the hall to open it.

The sound of voices, muffled at first, steadily became clearer until they were suddenly silent at the threshold of the library.

A pair of legs entered her vision, clad in jeans, the hem of a cardigan half way over the thighs. The person sat, fingers reaching out to hesitantly brush Charlie's knee.

Charlie stopped moving, eyes still focused on the same spot, only now it was on a button from the cardigan. It was a darker gray than the rest of the clothing. Smooth, and shiny. Charlie suddenly wondered if she was actually in front of an ancient TV, watching a black and white film play out in front of her… but the touch of fingers on her knee was eerily real, muted though they were. Everything around her, the clothes she wore, and the couch she was sitting on... it all felt like it was happening to someone else, and she was watching from a distance.

"Charlie?" It was a young woman's voice. Familiar. Charlie curled her fingers into her palms. That voice had been angry the last time she'd heard it. She blinked slowly. It was getting hard to keep her eyes open.

"Charlie? It's me, Beth, can you hear me?"

_Yes_, she thought. She wanted so badly to acknowledge the girl. It was important. _So important, but why?_ Her head refused to move, her mouth refused to open. It was all so much effort. Even the words in her mind were sluggish.

"Shit." The voice carried to the right. She was no longer talking to Charlie. "How long has she been like this?"

The voice that responded was also familiar. It was gruff. Soothing. It had tried to help her. Had asked her to do things, before she got too tired to try anymore. The man sighed, and Charlie didn't know what that meant. "Three days. Since the boys brought her back after all that crock with Anna. I tried to call Martha, but she was too far away on a job to get here. Told me to just order her to do stuff until you got here." He sighed again. Charlie didn't like it. It sounded tired, like her. "It worked for a while. Me an' the boys got her to eat and bathe for the first day, but she stopped respondin' after that. I sent 'em off on a case that cropped up. Said I'd wait with her." There was a thump and creak of wood from the man's desk. Charlie shifted her eyes to the side to see him sitting on the edge, hat twisting in his hands. She cut her eyes back to the button. It was safer. Nicer to look at. Seeing the man made her sad, and so very tired. "She won't sleep, either. Has some sort of panic attack when I ask. Keeps mumblin' that she won't wake up."

_I won't. If I sleep, I die. I'll fade. The darkness always finds me._

The young woman – Beth – sighed and stood. There was another thump on the floor nearby before the legs came back into her line of vision. They didn't sit. A sharp clap echoed around the room. Charlie tensed. "Ok, girl, we gotta snap you outta this. Up we get. We'll start with a shower. You're startin' to reek."

Charlie didn't move. _Why can't I just stay here? As long as I stay awake, I'll be fine._ Beth grasped her wrist and pulled gently, urging her up. Charlie, feeling the fight drain from her as quickly as it had come, complied.

Beth turned away, hand still on Charlie's wrist, and tugged her in the direction of the stairs. Charlie shuffled after her.

A few minutes later, now in the bathroom, Charlie stared at the tile on the wall, chipped and the color of raspberries. She liked that color. It was much different than the horrible gray it was the first day. The woman – _Beth_ – was undressing her. When Charlie's shirt was removed, Beth gasped. Charlie didn't like that sound either. It made her feel strange. Why did these people make her feel strange?

"Jesus, Charlie. What the hell is that?"

Charlie blinked, turning her head to finally look at Beth properly. Only twenty one, the girl's long blonde hair, curled purposefully, draped over thin shoulders. Her t-shirt, black and faded, sported a band name in stylish, harsh letters, with an animated figure of Death in a shroud, his Scythe slicing with a wicked gleam. A throw over cardigan covered the glaring shirt, and Charlie could now see that it was a deep red. Beth's blue jeans, torn strategically in several places were covered by knee-high black boots with a lot of buckles. Tattoos adorned her skin in several places. Bracelets decorated her thin wrists, and large silver hoop earrings swung out from underneath the tresses when Beth bent forward to look at something on Charlie's left side.

The gruff voice from before – _Bobby, _she thought _\- _called out from the other side of the door. It wasn't as distant as before. "If you've spotted the handprint, it's from an Angel."

Beth frowned, reaching out to touch it. "What?"

A sharp spike of something rushed over her skin with the contact. Charlie gasped, blinking harshly at the suddenly too bright room. Steam was settling onto her skin and the walls, Beth's hair looking limper than it was a moment ago. The roar of the hot shower behind her rushed over her ears.

"The handprint," Bobby reiterated, obviously unwilling to cross the threshold of the bathroom door. "It's from an Angel. Sam said she was having some sort of attack back in the barn after Anna disappeared, and one of the Angels – "

"Castiel," Charlie responded absently, hand reaching up to probe at her throat. Why was it so dry and raspy?

" – tried to help, but it left a mark. They didn't realize until Charlie complained of a pain there a few hours after. She was already starting to go funny, and just lifted her shirt to show 'em. Doesn't seem to hurt her now. She hasn't complained, and it hasn't gotten infected or anything. Looks just like Dean's." There was a pause. "I haven't done nothin' else bar that." The tone was defensive.

Beth stood straight, eyes wide and searching. Charlie, now feeling a bit more lucid, stared right back. "I think we have a lot to talk about." Charlie nodded, and turned to the shower at Beth's prompting. "But first, let's get you clean. Bobby's obviously turned tail on this aspect of lookin' after you."

"I heard that! I ain't turned tail. It was fine when she responded the first day, but I ain't gonna make it worse by bathin' the girl. She's lost enough dignity already. I won't tell you how long it took me to convince her to use the toilet when she began to fade off on me. It's about the only thing I really insisted on that she complied with, thank God."

Beth shook her head, closed the shower curtain and sat on the lid of the toilet to wait while Charlie washed.

As the water poured over her shoulders and back, soaking into her hair, Charlie, wanting to fill the silence now that she was slowly rising up from her void, called out to the room.

"Did you know that Angels teleport by opening rifts? At least, I think that's how it works."

Just beyond the shower curtain, she heard Beth sigh. "We _really_ need to talk."

* * *

_**Date: November 30th, 2008.**_

_**Location: On the road.**_

"The Apocalypse."

Charlie nodded, tapping her thumbs idly on the leather of the steering wheel of Beth's nineteen-ninety GT Ford Mustang. It was a silver-blue, and reminded Charlie of an oyster. Beth hadn't been appreciative of that nickname for her 'baby'. "Yeah."

"Jesus."

Reaching over, Charlie turned down the radio. It had been a week since Beth had arrived at Bobby's. Charlie had spent it recovering from her episode and avoiding talking to her cousin. Bobby had filled her in on most of it, but Beth had been insistent on hearing Charlie's side. Four hours of pestering later, Charlie made Beth pull over so she could drive and talk, while Beth could take it all in.

"And you met an Angel?"

Charlie sighed, cranking up the heat. Her fingers and toes were cramping, which meant they were on the verge of being so cold, she wouldn't be able to drive comfortably. It had always been this way. Charlie never really felt the change in temperature if it dropped, but she felt it if it rose. It was like she was born cold, so her body didn't feel lower temperatures. Martha often wondered if it was a genetic fault, like missing or damaged nerves. The wipers swished every few seconds, clearing away the light rainfall. "Yeah." She explained what she could of what Angels looked like without prompting. She was starting to think she should write it all down, just so she could have something to shove at people when they asked.

Beth was quiet for a minute, sinking into the passenger seat to prop a knee up against the dash. "So, if I was to call him, or pray to him**,** whatever, would he come? Does it work that way?"

"That's what Ava said, but I don't know. I've never tried." She narrowed her eyes, risking a glance to glare at Beth. "Don't even think about trying, either," she admonished.

She could hear the pout in Beth's answer. "Why?"

"He's busy."

"He's an Angel. Surely he could just - "

"I said no, and I mean it. "

"But you said it yourself; their task is impossible, so why not have him entertain us for a while and - "

Charlie tightened her fingers enough to whiten her knuckles, foot pressing heavier on the gas before she caught herself. "You bring Castiel here, and I'm leaving you stranded on side of the road," she snapped. "Leave it alone, and stop acting like a child."

Beth sat up quickly and crossed her arms, sullenly looking out the window. Charlie sighed, the tension leaving her as quickly as it had come. Sometimes she forgot how young Beth was, and how much damage she'd caused the girl. "I know you're just trying to get a rise out of me. The distraction of an Angel won't work. Come on, kiddo, out with it." There was silence. "You're still pissed."

"Of course I'm pissed! You - " She cut herself off, slapping her hands down on her thighs with a growl of frustration. "Why did you do it?"

"I told you."

"Yeah." She laughed humorlessly. "You didn't want to be here. I get it. You were depressed."

Charlie sighed, glancing out her own window before focusing on the road once more. The darkness outside isolated them, but the heat and soft music underneath it all was soothing. "I didn't know how to cope anymore, so I ran from responsibility."

Beth was quiet. "Why didn't you just tell us?"

"I didn't know how."

"Bullshit."

"It's the truth," Charlie responded firmly. "How was I supposed to explain that I couldn't do it anymore? That I couldn't watch people die because I failed? That I couldn't cope with my attacks? That I couldn't cope with feeling disconnected. It was too much, Beth." She let an arm fall to rub her right thigh, where she had a deep scar from plummeting off an old steel warehouse balcony. She had been hunting the Ghost of a worker who'd died in it some years ago, and he'd pushed her off. She had sailed twenty feet down onto an iron rod. Another Hunter had been with her, and he'd brought her to the hospital as soon as he'd dispatched the specter. The wound still ached occasionally, especially when she hadn't driven in a while. "They were getting worse. I found it harder to pull myself out. Even Martha was struggling, and I hated putting it on you."

When Beth spoke, it was harsh, but Charlie expected it. "You should have done it somewhere where we couldn't have found you, then."

"Beth - "

"No, Charlie! Do you know what it's like to find someone you considered a sister trying to kill herself? I _found_ you, Charlie. _I_ did. Not Martha! _Me! _I didn't - I didn't know what to do!"

Charlie gritted her teeth, reaching up to clench the wheel again. The leather squeaked in protest. She knew Beth felt like shit about it. She knew the young woman had a fierce pride in the Criven's family tradition of being Hunters, capable of anything they set their mind to. She also knew how much it hurt the girl to lose her rationality when faced with that situation of finding Charlie trying to kill herself. "_I'm sorry_. I'm sorry, Beth. I'm sorry that it was you, and I'm sorry I did it in the first place. I'm sorry I wasn't strong enough." She paused, looking over to see Beth had sunk down in her seat again, feet up on the dash, knees up to her chest in an awkward angle. She wasn't crying, but the tears had been there, shining tracks down her cheeks in the passing street lamps along the road outside. "I'm sorry I tried to leave you."

That was the heart of it, Charlie suspected. If Charlie had died Hunting, Beth would have accepted it like another Hunter and family member. She would have died saving people, doing something good for someone else… but Charlie had tried to take her own life. She had tried to leave their family, and had let Beth find her. Of all the mistakes she had made, and all she would ever make in the future, this was the one she would regret the most, even into the afterlife. She had hurt Beth deeply. She had hurt her family deeply, the family who'd taken her in and gave her a home and a purpose. Martha understood what had driven her to it. She hadn't accepted it as the right way to go about it, but she'd understood, but Beth… Beth was just a baby when Charlie had joined the family. She didn't remember a time before her.

The silence stretched for half an hour. Charlie focused on driving.

"So**,** where are we going?"

Charlie looked over to see her sitting up, eyes forward, cheeks dry. "St. Louis. Pamela sent me an address of a guy who should be able to help me figure some stuff out."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

The pause was heavy, filled with many scenarios that Charlie tried to predict. She hoped that whatever Beth would say next, it would be something significant enough to help them get past this. Charlie waited. Finally, "What kind of stuff?"

And just like that, the tension left. It wasn't perfect, but it was a start. Charlie settled back a bit more, loosening her grip on the wheel, and told Beth about what Pamela had said.

* * *

_**Date: December 2nd, 2008.**_

_**Location: St. Louis.**_

Down a dank, trash**-**filled alleyway in downtown St. Louis, an iron gate guarded a dark red door. To the right of the door at eye level, a small rectangular metal sign, worn in spots, read; _Relics and Redemption._

"You sure this is the place?"

Charlie pursed her lips, looking down at the piece of paper in her hand where she'd scrawled the address earlier. "This is the place."

Beth sighed. Charlie looked up to see her switching her gaze between the door and the entrance to the alley. She continuously rubbed her fingers together, the woolen gloves whisping softly, before she abruptly crossed her arms, hands tucking deep into her armpits. "I don't like it. It feels like a set up. Dank alley, weirdly clean red door, strange title for a shop that doesn't look like a shop. I mean, for God sake, there's not even a window!"

Charlie looked out to the entrance of the alley. This side of town was 'shifty' according to an older woman they'd bumped into outside a supermarket entrance earlier. They'd asked her for directions. "_Oh, I wouldn't go down there," she tutted, tightening her grip on her green shawl, and adjusting her small trolley to sit behind her. "Shifty area. Thugs. Hooligans. Wear those silly hoods and - between me and you - I think they carry guns." She nodded knowingly. "Covered in tattoos that would make a sailor blush. Best avoided, but if you really want to go, it's down two streets, a left at the crossroads and two blocks down on the right."_

They had seen very little of the 'shifty hooligans'.

"Maybe they don't come out on gloomy days," Charlie had commented, before stepping into the alleyway. It was, indeed, gloomy: overcast with thick clouds, ready to rip at the seams. "Should I get out my wand and rap out a secret code?"

Beth rolled her eyes. "Very funny. Just shut up and knock, if you're going to. Get this over with. I'm just glad I parked the car somewhere else."

"Look, the boys are happy enough with Pamela, so I'm giving her the benefit of the doubt. Let's just see how we go, yeah?" Without waiting for a response, Charlie reached through the bars of the gate, curled her hand into a fist and rapped on the wood. Several minutes passed. There was no sound, until a very quick _snickt_ revealed a narrow hidden panel at eye level.

Good Lord. Maybe she _should_ have gotten a wand.

A pair of bloodshot green eyes, with pupils struggling to assimilate to the weak daylight, peered out. Strands of greying hair hung across the crooked bridge of a nose. "Who's there?" The voice was thin and raspy, but sharp**,** and distinctly male.

Charlie tilted her head, drawing his focus to her. His eyes were quick to dart across her features and down her body as far as he could see. Charlie slipped the piece of paper into her coat pocket before slowly spreading her arms out in an effort to appease his paranoia. She thought he might be looking to see if they had weapons. "I'm Charlie. Charlie Crivens. This is Beth Crivens. We're here – "

"Ah! Yes, yes, good. I was wondering when you might show up. Pamela was specific." A lot of bolts were unlocked and then the door was cracked open, just enough for his hand to creep out and push the gate. Charlie took hold and opened it the rest of the way. "Yes, good, good. Come in. Hurry**,** now! Can't leave it open too long." He laughed, and Charlie worried at the hysterical edge to it.

Slipping past the threshold, Charlie came face to face with a short hallway that opened out into a larger shop about fifteen square feet. At the back sat a glass counter filled with charms, trinkets, books**,** and a till. On the walls around them were various items used for spell work and weaponry. It was a mash of everything a Hunter could want.

Beth gave a low whistle behind her, before she was shoved aside by the man squirreling his way to the counter. Now that she could see him in the artificial light of the room, Charlie found it hard to pinpoint his age. He was predominantly hunched, with a perpetual unease that made Charlie suspect he was ready to secret himself away at the slightest hint of danger. A thick gray cardigan covered a faded black pair of jeans and white shirt. His soft loafers made no sound when he slunk behind the counter to barricade himself behind it. His hair, once a light brown, was smattered with premature gray, fluffed outwards like the aftereffects of balloon static. When he looked up from under his lashes, Charlie saw the face of a forty-something year old man, with dry, worried skin and five o'clock shadow.

Charlie remained by the door, wary of startling him too badly. He may have let them in, but he looked ready to bolt. She cleared her throat. "You're Kieran Hennessy?"

His long fingers ran back and forth across the wooden edge of the counter on his side, skipping every so often over the till. He nodded. "Yes, of course."

Beth, either oblivious or distracted, wandered slowly along the right side of the shop, making appreciative noises over the items. Hennessy watched her with darting glances.

"She won't do anything," Charlie reassured him. He nodded, but she didn't think he believed her. She sighed. "Are you able to help me?"

"Hmm? Oh yes, of course. Yes. Come this way."

He turned and walked through a curtain of beads to disappear down the back of the shop. Charlie hesitated, wondering if he was just going to leave the place unattended.

"Come along," he called. "Might take a while! Might as well get started!" Again the laughter, but this time it was less hysterical, and more amused. She wondered if she was supposed to understand it as as some sort of joke.

She sighed again. "Beth? If you're happy enough out here…?"

Beth waved a hand dismissively, eager hands reaching out to palm a cat skull. "I'll be up in a bit. You get started."

Charlie raised an eyebrow, and squeezed through the gap at the edge of the counter. Parting the beads, she entered another hallway that led to a narrow set of stairs. Up the stairs, _another _short hallway. At the end, there was a strange glow fractured by the shadows of another bead doorway –

_What's with this guy and - oh._ They weren't beads. They were charms; bones, cloth, hair and metal pendants among other things, strung together to make a net that would trap and immobilise any Monster, Demon, or Other long enough for someone to get the drop on them. Charlie curled her lip in disgust. On the floor below the dangling protection net, there was a Devil's trap with some sort of slick substance around the edge.

"Mind the Holy Oil," Hennessy said cheerfully, busy sorting through books across the room. "Hard to come by, but very useful. Wouldn't want you to slip and break something. Can't tell you how many times I've done it myself. I also have no insurance that covers death by supernatural charms." He snorted at his own joke.

Charlie gave him an exasperated look**,** stepping over the threshold, only to freeze. Each and every wall glowed with Sigils. There were fixed, erratic, reds and blacks for keeping Demons out, protection spells**,** and pretty much any anti-anything spell Charlie had ever seen or heard about. Overlapping them all were straight, not-quite boxy blue-white Sigils she'd never seen before. They looked more recent, stronger and brighter than the others. Along the edge of the room, half way up the walls, there was a thick iron sheet that looked like part of Bobby's panic room. One lone window to the right overlooking the main street, covered in more painted Sigils, struggled to let in daylight. A single bed was wedged in one corner on the far right of the entrance, like it was an afterthought. Everything else was stored on shelves, under the bed**,** or along the walls and roof; charms, books, hex bags, knives, and guns, and -

There was too much to take in.

Hennessy vanished behind a small section of wall that barely secluded the kitchen. "If you can find a chair, sit."

Charlie looked around before spotting an armchair, buried under some books and drawings. Collecting them together, she placed them on the floor and sat, sinking immediately until her knees almost touched her chin. After a moment of surprise, she bit the inside of her lip in an effort not to growl.

"Careful on the armchair! The springs are shot to hell!"

_No shit. _It was a supreme effort not to roll her eyes. Instead, she slumped in resignation, allowing her head to thump against the back.

He wandered back in, books in hand, and a pair of thin glasses perched on his nose. Without looking, he manoeuvred his way around his home. He shoved off books and papers from a coffee table, which Charlie hadn't seen, and sat in front of her. His knees almost touched her shins with her awkward position. He looked up, and blinked at her. "Probably should have warned you a bit earlier about the chair, then." She glared silently in response. He cleared his throat. "Now! Pamela has told me you need to find out about yourself."

"Yes."

"Do you have the information?"

Charlie dug into her pocket and pulled out a flash drive, handing it over. "Everything I could dig up on my family is there."

"Excellent!" He jumped up and strode to a table, shoving more papers off a laptop. Grabbing it, he came back over and sat back on the table, flipping open the screen and powering it up. Flash drive slotted into a port, he began his reading. Charlie, uncomfortable with his twitching proximity, and unable to extricate herself quickly from the chair, forced herself to wait.

A few minutes later, he let out an, "Ah!"

"Have you found something?"

"No, but I now know a bit about you. Single child of two parents, both abusive, died mysteriously of heart attacks in nineteen-ninety-five, raised by legal guardian Martha Crivens from the age of ten after spending a year in foster care. Spent two years being psychiatrically evaluated to determine if clinically depressed blah blah blah. Tell me something I don't know."

Charlie waited for him to say more.

He pulled off his glasses and stared at her, surprisingly still. "Tell me something I don't know," he repeated. "I'm not reading the truth in everything here."

Wary of his sudden inactivity and seriousness, Charlie cross her arms (as much as she was able in her position) and spoke. "My grandmother killed my parents. She turned into a Poltergeist a few months after her death when I turned nine. Martha wasn't my guardian. She forged the papers after trying to get me out of foster care, and they never managed to diagnose me."

"You never fit into just one category," he surmised. Charlie shrugged. A lot of the technical terms had gone over her head when she was younger, and they'd encouraged endless medication for years to no effect, so she had begun dismiss it as a medical issue.

"Alright." He slapped the laptop closed and smiled. His teeth, in contrast to the rest of him, were surprisingly healthy. "Do you have anything from your life before the Crivens?"

Charlie raised her eyebrows. Of course she didn't. She'd never gone back to the house, and foster care had lost most of her things. She had wanted no reminder of her Hell. "No."

"Ah. Right so. I'd love to spend a few days going through some questions and tests, but I don't see you being the type, so I'm going to have to use something of yours now. Any items with you? Watch? Jewellery? Loose tooth?" He gave her hair a considering glance. "A bit of your hair would do, as long as I combine it with something else. Needs to be strong enough to withstand the spell."

Charlie privately considered whether coming here was the right decision. A tooth? This was crazy. Sighing heavily, she tapped her fingers on her thigh. "If they survive the spell, you can have my pendants." She fished them out from under the collar of her t-shirt. They clinked softly in her grip.

His eyes lit up. "You made them yourself?"

"Yes."

"Perfect!" He snatched them from her, tossing his laptop to a couch to his left. Charlie hadn't seen that either. It bounced off a cushion to land on a book, before settling. It gave a pitiful whir at the rough treatment. He stood and puttered about his room, grabbing a large bowl - that looked suspiciously like a salad bowl - collecting everything he needed as he went. Items were swept into it, drawers slid open and banged shut, and bottles rattled precariously on tops of dressers. He shoved the coffee table aside and pulled up the mat underneath, revealing a circle of chalked symbols. He placed the bowl in the center and lit two candles either side, before throwing in mixtures of herbs, oils, a snip of her hair (she'd cut it off herself, thank you very much) and her pendants. A powder was added next, followed by drips of wax off a strangely carved and colored candle, before it was blown out and put to one side, unneeded. He clapped his hands. "Right, right. Excellent! This is exciting, isn't it? Been a while since I've had to do this. Actually," he said, pausing and sitting back on his heels, "don't really remember if I've done this one before." He shrugged. "Ah, well. It won't kill me, so let's give it a try."

Charlie eyed the exit, wondering how long it would take for her to get out of the Godforsaken chair to flee the building. This guy was something else.

He began a chant, his voice settling out from the reedy rasp it had been earlier. Perhaps it came from not talking much. He hadn't shut up since she'd gotten here.

An hour passed. She became a bit uncomfortable, shifting every ten minutes or so to ease the aches of sitting in the chair.

At the two hour mark, Beth came up and crept quietly over to sit on the arm of Charlie's chair. Charlie, in an effort to sooth her impatience, sent a message to Dean and Sam to check on them, and got a reply of the story of two kids who'd been tortured and left on their own. It was heavy stuff, and Charlie wasn't sure how to respond, so she left them to it for the time being.

She sent another one to Pamela when the man started rocking back and forth, chant petering out and rising sporadically. Pamela assured her he was legit, if a little mad. Apparently he'd been a top Hunter for a few years before he'd settled for a family. His wife divorced him after four years, taking his daughter with her, having taken custody. Unable to cope, he had turned back to what he knew best, only he'd decided to be an informational guru on all things supernatural. He had succeeded to some extent, opening up the little business downstairs, and working with Hunters by phone or computer outside and during opening hours, but it took its toll after a few years. His visits to his daughter were less frequent, and the ex-wife had begun to refuse contact when the job started driving him a little mad.

_Nowadays,_ Pamela told her by text, _he's just left to his own devices, helping Hunters and mostly keepin' to himself. _

There was a gasp**,** and both Charlie and Beth startled. It had taken three hours, but he was finished, if a little winded. He was also frowning. Charlie slipped her phone away into a pocket of her jeans and waited. It was probably going to be bad news.

Slowly getting up off his knees, wincing when they creaked, Kieran stretched. "Well!" he said, smiling affably. "That was useless!"

Beth cleared her throat. "What did you do?"

He shuffled over to the table, pulling it back to sit in front of them again. "Well." He waved a hand in a circle, looking to articulate himself. "When I was chatting to Pamela, she was saying things like 'out of sync' and being unable to see you, except in the now, and even then, it was hazy... or some such." He grunted thoughtfully, raising a finger while he continued. "After reading your files and cobbling together a vague idea, I suspected you were a descendant of a First."

"A First?" Charlie asked, shifting to try and get feeling back into her ass.

"Yes. One of the first Human Beings that God created outside of Adam and Eve. I've been working on this theory for years, actually. What I believe is this: the First Humans that God created could see everything. They could see God's creations as they were intended. They saw the Truth." Charlie could hear the capital letter, and his hands were starting to get animated with his storytelling. "The very code that God wrote for this planet. Now, after a few hundred years, one gets used to seeing everything, wouldn't you say? The wonder becomes stagnant. Dull. Boring and repetitive. And, of course, Human nature desires change, so after a few hundred years more, Humans began to forget. They no longer saw the world as it once was. It became bland, but no less wonderful. In this, Humans saw the same wonder, but from a different perspective." He scooted forward, knobbly knees touching Charlie's. He began to gesture with his hands. "Imagine a tree. In this tree swirled God's code. It makes up the core, the bark, the roots and branches, and the leaves. Now imagine having someone put a veil over your eyes, semi-opaque. Suddenly**,** it's a new tree. A different tree. But the same."

"And you think I'm a descendant of one of these people."

He waved a hand dismissively, grimacing. "Everyone is, I suppose, but there were a few, I believe at least, that retained this gift of Sight, and they passed it on to their generations, teaching them about what they were seeing. Now though, they didn't _only _have the Sight. Over the many thousands of years, they learned that they could _manipulate_ the code, if they were strong enough. Their souls connected with the energy of this world and they could use it to travel, to protect themselves. A bit like God's magic, or something. I'm still hazy on details. It's only a theory after all." He grinned, patting her knees. "I think you might be one of these descendants. Is this making any sense at all?"

Charlie shook her head bemusedly at his excitement. "But my parents never - "

"I suppose you're right, there. Your parents weren't exactly the teaching type. Nor were their parents before them." He hummed, fingers coming up to scratch at his stubble. "Perhaps there was a break in teaching somewhere."

"So what was the spell?"

"Hmm? Oh, yes, of course. Spell. The spell. Yes, it was to test your bloodline and soul to see if you were one of those with the Sight."

Charlie waited, but he didn't say anything more. "And?"

He seemed to have drifted off. "Hmm? Oh, it was useless."

"So, she's not a descendant?" Beth asked, confused.

He got up and began to clean up the candles and bowl. He disappeared into the kitchen, the sound of rushing water echoing across the apartment. "She could be," he called out.

"But you said it was useless."

"It is."

Charlie sighed, finally pushing up and to the very edge of the chair where it was more stable. "How is it useless?" she ground out.

He came back in, her necklace dangling from his hand, dripping water along his floor. "It didn't work."

Charlie pinched the bridge of her nose. "Guy, if you don't tell me what the hell you're talking about, I'm going to punch you in the throat."

He stopped, blinked rapidly, and deposited the necklace into her outstretched hand. "The spell didn't work at all, Miss Crivens. It never even took. It was supposed to read your soul and bloodline, but there was barely a fizz. Well, a slight hum in response to your blood, but nothing more. No magic. No reading."

"You think you did the spell wrong?" Beth asked.

"No. It was right. I felt that it was right. I read that it was right. But you, Charlie Crivens, are wrong."

That word again. She clenched her fists on her jeans, before forcing herself up. Standing eye to eye with the hunched man, Charlie frowned. "What do you mean?"

"It means that it couldn't read you. It couldn't read your soul."

She really wasn't enjoying this conversation. Cautiously, as if she had to gently pry the word out lest it lashed out at her, she asked, "Why?"

He went very still, watching her carefully. This was a different man behind the bloodshot, tired eyes. He was suddenly focused in this moment. Perhaps this was the Kieran before he'd gone a little mad. "I have a theory, but it's so far beyond the scope of possibility, that even _I_ find it hard to believe. And I've seen some serious shit in my life."

Standing straighter, Charlie wiped her palms on her dark coat. She sighed. "Just tell me. _Please_."

"There is no spell that shouldn't be able to read a soul, unless you don't have one."

Charlie's breath got stuck in her throat.

"But I know you have one. When the spell didn't read, I cast another, smaller one. You have a soul, but I think it's fractured."

"Fractured?"

"Yes. It should be beyond the realm of possibility, but who knows, it's probably not impossible, but yours is not just fractured - the spell would have at least attempted to read it - it's fractured with a missing piece."

Charlie slowly lowered herself to the edge of the chair again, the hard frame digging into her. Leaning forward, she pressed her hands along her forehead, staring at the floor, distantly cataloging the newer, strange protection Sigils she still couldn't place. "You're telling me I'm missing part of my soul."

It wasn't a question, but he answered anyway. "Yes. Honestly, it would explain your depression events."

"How so?" Beth piped up, bouncing a foot rhythmically off the old wood floor. It squeaked with every tremor.

"Well - again a theory - the soul _needs_ to be whole. If it's not, it would seek out the missing part, or something that would complete it until it found the missing part, or else it would fade, seeking to be released to Heaven. No person should have just part of a soul. In essence, it - and the person - are dying every time an attack occurs. It is the natural progression of death, only Charlie seems to be experiencing a slower version. Almost like her dying breath, extended."

Beth's bouncing stopped. She became very, very still. Charlie tried very hard to control her breathing. "Her bouts of depression are her - and her soul - dying?"

"Essentially, yes. Souls don't usually do this, obviously," he laughed, as if it was a private joke. "The soul doesn't die, it passes on to the next realm. From the description of Charlie's episodes, it seems to me that it's not trying to return to Heaven. It's simply fading from existence."

"Jesus. _Jesus_, Charlie - " Beth cut off, unable to continue.

Charlie closed her eyes at the sickening twist of the Sigils beneath her. The room was tilting, her vision was darkening. She wasn't able to get enough air into her lungs. "How do I fix it?" she rasped out. _Focus. Just focus. Deep breaths._

He shrugged, blinking and seeming to fall back into his default rabbit mode, turning distractedly to organize his bookshelf. "I don't know. As I said, everything is - "

"Theory, yes we get it," Beth bit out.

"Well, yes. Theory. I only speculated the possibility. And I was drunk at the time." He paused, blinking rapidly. "And possibly high." He shrugged. "It seemed like a good idea."

"Do you have any other _theories_ that could help me?"

"No, I'm afraid. Didn't think it was possible, so didn't prepare for it. It was irrelevant information. Maybe the Angels could help you. Now, if you don't mind, I have some things to do. Please come see me again when, or if, you complete yourself. We could still try out that spell." He grinned, blowing a thick strand of hair that fell across his face, only for it to flop down again. "No harm in trying, is there? And I'd love to know. Oh! Try out the possible abilities while you're at it! If we can't do the spell straight away, no need to put off trying other things. Let me know how it goes! Thanks for stopping by."

He didn't speak again, even as they left. Beth drove, as Charlie couldn't do much of anything.


	8. Seams

"_To err is human, to forgive, divine." - Alexander Pope._

**8\. Seams**

_**Date: End of December, 2008.**_

_**Location: Colorado Springs, Colorado.**_

Charlie cupped a protective hand around her ribs, easing into the diner booth. The bright comic-book red leather, shining against the winter sun by the window, squeaked in welcome at her settled weight. When she straightened, she couldn't help the hiss of pain from her other injuries. Twisted kneecap. Possible torn tendons - _owowowow_ \- _definite_ torn tendons in her left shoulder. Her spine cracked like an elderly person suffering from arthritis.

Beth slid into the seat across from her, covered in cuts and bruises (most of them thankfully hidden by clothing). A burn, treated and bandaged by Charlie, covered her left forearm from wrist to elbow on the underside.

The younger woman was frowning at the bandage, hands already beginning to shred a tissue. "I think I'm more pissed it's ruined my tattoo, than how bad it actually hurts," she commented.

Charlie reached across for a menu with her free hand to make them look as normal as possible. The air wheezed out of her at the motion, and spots danced across her vision for a moment. Indrawn breath, and _push it away._ Limping into a diner looking like escaped victims of a car accident tended to grab people's attention. There were a few stares, but Charlie ignored them in favour of choosing something from the menu. She wasn't even hungry, but it was rude to take up the diners time just so they could rest. "You can design a new one."

"I don't want to design a new one. I liked _that_ one." Beth shook her head in disbelief. "I wonder about you sometimes, Char."

Charlie dropped the menu down where it gently slapped against the table. Signalling a waitress with a nod, she eyed her cousin. "What do you mean?"

"You're not a very sentimental person – "

Charlie frowned. "I'm sentimental – "

"Well you don't show it," Beth interrupted quickly. "Yes, you have your charms and crap, but I'd love to ink you. You like so much little shit and I think it would be good to have something you could look at, something you could carry with you to help you keep your head."

The waitress, stereotypically blonde with a slight figure and generous bust, stopped beside them with a sunny smile. It was painfully false, but Charlie didn't care right now. It was too early, and she was in pain from dealing with four woeful cases in the space of a few weeks, not including the frustration of dead ends on finding her missing piece of soul. "What can I get you, ladies?"

"Sausage, bacon, and waffles," Beth said immediately, taking out another tissue from the holder to her left to render it useless. "With lots of syrup. And coffee."

"I'll have orange juice and pancakes, please. Chocolate chip if you have them. Thank you," she added, pointedly glaring at her cousin. Beth rolled her eyes, tacking on an insincere 'thanks' after her own.

"Sure thing, hun. You need any ice for uh...?" She gestured vaguely to Charlie's face, where there was a dark bruise across her cheek.

It hurt like a bitch, but she had no way of explaining that a Werewolf had clocked her with a right hook, sending her soaring out a window. She'd hit a porch floor, getting up just in time to be tackled off it, her leg getting caught in one of the posts before half the thing came down on top of them. Handing her menu to the woman, Charlie smiled through the pain. "Not a bad idea."

This time, the waitress' smile was more genuine. "No problem. It'll be about ten minutes, and I'll bring you ice straight away."

"Thank you."

When the waitress left, Beth picked up where she left off, much to Charlie's exasperation. "I'm serious. You can do some magic shit that could maybe help you keep your head if you're on your own for an episode. Like a charm or something, and I'll add in some protection spells on your ink on top of that," she added excitedly, warming up to her idea. "I've heard about them, but never got to try them. It'll be awesome!"

Wondering if she still had any painkillers in the bag she'd left in Beth's trunk, Charlie reluctantly agreed to Beth's idea. The premise of protective tattoos sounded promising, and if there _were_ any spells or charms that could help her keep her focus when having an episode, she'd be an idiot not to try. "Alright." She had tried everything else. Why not magic?

"Yes! Excellent. Hang on." Beth slid out of the booth and went up to the counter. Charlie admired the decor while she waited. It wasn't a bad place, kind of a fifties vibe to it: reds and creams, old fashioned uniforms, and chrome edgings. It was bright too, cheerful and welcoming. It was nice after spending a night in a derelict house chasing a Werewolf. It was also quiet this early, the gentle clinks of cutlery and sips of coffee soothing.

Beth slid back in with a newly acquired pen and a fresh napkin in her hand. As soon as she sat down, she immediately went to to work on some designs for Charlie's tattoos. The waitress appeared with some ice wrapped in a cloth and their drinks, and a few minutes later appeared again with their breakfast. Beth ate sporadically, still designing. Charlie ate, one-handed, much more slowly. The ice was left to one side while she savoured everything. It had been ages since she'd had pancakes. They were deliciously fluffy. The orange juice was tangy and sweet.

At least it _was_, until she almost choked on it when Uriel appeared directly beside her, and Castiel appeared directly across from her beside Beth. She'd barely had time to acknowledge the rifts before they were just... _there_.

She coughed violently, the sting of the acidic juice burning the back of her throat, ribs screaming for the torture to stop. "_Jesus Christ!_" she rasped after a few seconds, quickly darting her eyes around to see if anyone noticed. No one looked over. Beth jumped, banging her knee on the table, before shoving herself into the window as far as possible away from Castiel, hand holding up the pen like a knife.

Charlie raised a hand to calm her cousin, but inched to the edge of the seat away from Uriel. The Angel watched her every move, whereas Castiel was frowning at Beth. He looked a little put out at her reaction.

Finally regaining some composure, Charlie wiped her mouth. "It's alright, Beth."

Castiel finally looked at her, his frown turning a touch more severe at the sight of her injuries.

"Who the fuck are these guys?"

"They're Angels. That's Castiel." Charlie gestured to the Angel, slipping her hand back under her coat to palm her side. He watched her quietly.

"And that one?"

Charlie turned her gaze away from Cas to look at Beth, refusing point blank to acknowledge the other Angel by sight. She tried to infuse as much warning into her tone as possible. "His name is Uriel."

"Are we done with the little introductions?" Uriel asked contemptuously.

His hands, folded on the table top, twitched. Charlie frowned at them, waiting to see if he'd do anything else, but he didn't move. "What do you want?"

"Such insolence. I should smite you where you sit." His tone was suddenly casual. "I wouldn't waste my time on you, though. You're pathetic enough already, sitting broken in your fragile body."

"Uriel," Castiel warned, frowning at his companion. "This is unnecessary."

Uriel scoffed, but he leaned back and straightened his jacket. "Very well. We've been told by a little bird that you've been snooping."

Charlie raised her eyebrows, free hand toying with her fork. She wondered if she'd be able to stab him in the eye, and if she did, would it get her anywhere? Probably not. "Snooping?"

"Don't play coy," he snapped. "I have little patience for you and your little... information gathering. We wouldn't be here if it weren't for orders."

"Orders?"

"They are purposely vague in how to deal with forcing you to stop what you're doing." There was a clear threat in that tone. Charlie eyed Beth carefully. The younger woman looked calm on the surface, but she had always been quick at picking up cues. Underneath, Charlie knew she was assessing everything, planning the best escape route. Cas was unpredictable, but Uriel was obvious. If he wanted to kill them, he would, and they wouldn't be able to stop him. Cutting her eyes to Castiel, Charlie silently wondered if he'd be easily moved to allow Beth to slide out and away. Neither of them seemed interested in the younger woman at all.

Castiel watched her in return, and if she'd blinked, she would have missed his deliberate relaxation of his body. She made a new assessment: if Beth gave him a kick or shove, he'd slide right out of the way.

She sent him her thanks, before looking at Uriel. She had to tilt her head up slightly to meet his intense gaze. His jaw ticked a steady pulse. "And what am I doing?" He narrowed his gaze and opened his mouth, but she cut him off. "Helping to stop the Apocalypse? Looking for information about myself? Learning about Angels?" She caught a brief flash of something across his face. So it was the Angels. She continued as if she hadn't noticed. "Looking for information on the Seals? By the way, who came up with the genius idea of having six hundred, only for sixty-six to be broken?"

He curled his lip in a snarl, power surging to strike across his form. It blistered the air enough to make Charlie's breathing shallow. Charlie slowly moved her injured hand to grab the edge of the table, shifting her leg so that it was clear of the booth and readied herself to leave in a hurry. She hoped Beth was doing the same. "You dare question our Father's – "

"Yes. I have a lot of questions for your Father actually –" Beth made a despondent noise at Charlie's impertinent interruption, but Charlie forged ahead, hoping to drive Uriel to focus on her, or to leave altogether. "- but that's irrelevant right now. Why does someone want to stop me looking up information on Angels? Is there something I shouldn't find out? Is it to do with the Apocalypse? Why would someone want to stop me from –"

She grunted to stop the scream that crawled up her throat, the lightning strike of pain bursting out from where Uriel had gripped her injured knee. She felt the the sting from biting her tongue, and she was pretty sure she'd cracked a tooth from clenching at the grinding mess of bone and flesh beneath his steel fingers.

"Enough."

Charlie breathed out sharply through her nose, eyes burning under the heat of Uriel's ethereal stare. For some reason Castiel's objection to their argument was more surprising than Uriel's viciousness.

"Castiel - "

The other Angel was adamant, tensing up in defense. "We have warned her. That should suffice."

There was a cold, mocking sneer in Uriel's voice. "Your trust in her is this solid?"

Castiel flicked his gaze over to Charlie, where she was valiantly trying not to cry out at Uriel's rough treatment. His stare was both long and quick. She couldn't discern his expression but was grateful for his interference. "She hasn't given me a reason to distrust her, so yes."

Charlie could read between the lines.

Uriel released her, taking a napkin to wipe the hand that had been crushing her poor kneecap. Charlie didn't know whether to be amused or insulted. She dismissed either feeling, focusing instead on Beth. The younger woman was coping well, considering.

A flutter of wind from Uriel's wings breezed across Charlie's face, bringing with it a scent of burning smoke, and then he was gone. Charlie relaxed, fingers tentatively pressing at the tender tissue around her knee.

"I apologize. He can be… difficult."

"Understatement," Charlie said simply, glancing up to meet his disquiet expression. She waved him away. "Don't worry about it. It could have gone worse."

Beth's voice was incredulous. "It could have gone _worse_? Talk about understatement. I thought he'd smite you."

Charlie shook her head. "No. He would have done that straight away. He was being restrained, surprisingly." Castiel frowned, fingers splaying out on the table before him. She wondered if he could feel the sensation of the ice water meandering around his left pinky. It was strange. She hadn't seen him since he'd left her drifting in the Impala. "Last time we met like that, he was adamant on smiting a town. He doesn't strike me as one to talk about it. More of a doer."

"You suspected they were not his true orders?"

Charlie made a face. "I didn't suspect anything. Not then, at least. Afterwards, when Samhain was brought down, I suspected something funny."

He opened his mouth to inquire, but Beth overrode him. "Charlie, don't tell him shit. He's an Angel. Aren't we - you know…" She left the sentence hanging, eyebrows raised pointedly.

Charlie thought about Cas staying with her in the back of the Impala and shook her head. "He's fine."

"How do you know?"

"Yes, how do you know?" Castiel queried, confused expression replaced by narrow-eyed suspicion.

She copied his expression, though she suspected hers came across more amused. "If you don't want me to tell you, that's fine. You're essentially telling me not to trust you."

"That is not what I said."

"No. It's not what you said, but your body language says otherwise."

He sat up straighter, eyes downcast and shifting to one side. She waited. When his eyes moved back to her, she allowed her smile to bleed through just a little. He frowned. "My body language?"

"Yes. Admittedly, you're very much reserved in human body language - I blame not being on Earth for quite some time - but it's what you're not saying."

"Is this some sort of weird Angel flirting you've picked up?" Beth said suddenly, slumping back into the corner of the booth, disarmed by the strange conversation.

They ignored her. "What I'm not saying," he reiterated, slow and careful.

Charlie leaned forward, a quick indrawn breath the only indication of her pain with the movement of her knee, and glanced at his wings over a shoulder. He didn't know she could see them, but Charlie believed they were useful in indicating his moods. People didn't see Angels this way normally, so they had no fear of hiding the expressive appendages. Castiel leaned forward as well, hands shifting to allow him to move closer. "Let's just say you haven't given me a reason not to trust you."

His head tilted. His blue eyes scrutinized her own. He blinked then, reaching a hand up to attempt to press two fingers to her forehead. Charlie could spot the telltale glow gathering at his chest that would reach out to heal her, and she gently place her hand on top of his own, fingers curling around his curved fingers, thumb pressing at the back of the two stretched outwards. The ice water dripped between them, clinging to his skin.

This was the first time she had ever really touched him, and Charlie marveled at the tingling, hot sensation that crawled across his skin from his ener - Grace. _That's what Micah called it. _"You have to stop trying to heal me every time you see me," she admonished softly.

He frowned, mouth turning down a margin. "Why?"

"One, it would look suspicious to have the waitress come over after our meal to see I've miraculously healed, and two, one day I'll probably need your healing, and you might not be able to give it. My body needs to heal on its own sometimes."

He looked disturbed at her impossible prediction. He didn't remove his hand from hers, instead he pressed into it more. "Uriel has caused more damage than was necessary. I do not - "

Charlie raised an eyebrow. Alright**,** so he had a point there. Her knee was screaming, and her ribs would take an age. She released a blustering sigh. "Alright. Heal my main injuries that you can't see. My knee, ribs, and shoulder - and Beth's burn, please, as I worry it'll get infected."

He nodded immediately, lifting his free hand to press quickly against Beth's forehead before the girl even had a chance to register his movement. Charlie could only see the brief flash of his essence before it returned to him, and he then looked at her once more. Still gripping his hand, Charlie allowed him to press the digits to her forehead, closing her eyes against the warmth in her side, knee, and shoulder. The pain vanished instantly.

Opening her eyes again, she leaned back and grabbed a tissue, keeping his hand in her own. Shaking her head, she dried the underside of his hand clear of ice water. He watched her curiously.

The waitress appeared, eyes immediately finding Castiel. A faint hint of pleasant surprise flashed across her features, before it was schooled into a more professional look. She addressed the table as a whole, but she lingered on Castiel throughout. "Everything ok over here? Can I get anyone anything? What about you cutie-pie?"

Charlie raised an eyebrow, watching curiously from the corner of her eye. _She's a walking stereotype._

"I don't eat," was his response, tilting his head to look up at her.

The waitress actually winked at him. "You sure, sugar? I could whip up somethin' real nice."

Charlie discarded the tissue onto her cold pancakes but kept Castiel's hand in hers. He didn't seem to notice, his palm facing upwards and completely lax in her own loose grip. The feeling was strange. His essence tickled her skin, as if it was a living thing on it's own; tentatively brushing up against her fingers like little, curling waves, much like it had with the Worry Dolls. Castiel didn't even seem to be conscious of it. Out of curiosity, she swept her thumb along his palm and pressed gently. The liquid-like power shimmered in response, shivering around her thumb in apparent excitement.

Castiel was still distracted by the misunderstanding waitress. "My vessel does not require nourishment."

Charlie glanced up to see the woman placing a hand on Castiel's shoulder, fingers lightly toying with the collar of his coat. "I'm sure I could find you somethin', honey."

Charlie frowned at the display. The Angel looked incredibly uncomfortable, wings shifting restlessly under the touch. His frown turned from confused to nervous, mouth opening and closing wordlessly. He glanced at her, expression turning beseeching when the woman's fingers brushed across the skin under his shirt collar. "I'm at a loss to explain this further."

Charlie deftly turned his hand so it cupped hers, and smiled fictitiously at the woman. "He's a nervous Angel - " She glanced quickly at the nametag - "Rochelle. He's had a busy night shift and has already had breakfast, I'm afraid." With a steady gaze that probably looked a bit more intimidating than intended with the dark bruise underneath her eye, Charlie continued, "Trust me. You're not suited for each other."

Charlie could see Castiel watching between the woman and herself with fascination. A dark flush crawled across the woman's features, showing clearly despite the heavy application of make-up she required. Rochelle casually attempted to lift her hand away, eyes darting over their hands clasped together, smiling that painful smile again before she ripped off a note from her notepad. Placing it down on the table, she intoned politely, "Your bill, ladies," and turned to walk away without a backwards glance.

Looking perplexed at the entire exchange, Castiel sat up straighter. "I do not understand what has happened? Was that an attempt at human interaction?"

"It's one type," Beth commented wryly, having watched the whole thing from her corner. She twisted her mouth to one side and sighed. "This has been a weird month. We should probably head out soon."

Charlie nodded, releasing Castiel's hand. He blinked, looking down and frowning at it. He looked at Charlie, opening his mouth -

Only to tilt his head in what was now becoming familiar as his I'm-hearing-something-you-can't-hear-I-

"I must go."

He vanished.

"Whoa. Not even a goodbye?"

Charlie pursed her lips and nodded absently, staring at where the tear had opened and closed across from her. "Not his style apparently, though I keep forgetting to remind him about how rude it is."

She grabbed the check and stood. Time to meet the boys.

* * *

_**Location: Cheyenne, Wyoming.**_

Charlie slipped her thumb under her phone cover to flip it open. The glare of the screen cut across her vision in the darkened motel room. She slapped it closed, only to repeat the gesture in a nonsensical rhythm.

A Seal was saved, but Pamela was gone.

Not just gone. Dead. Murdered. One Seal out of sixty-six, in six hundred.

She hadn't known the woman long but she had been helpful, and kind, if a little severe at times. Blinded by an Angel. Murdered by a Demon. No one deserved that. One life for one Seal. Slapping the phone closed with more force, Charlie frowned. It was all so pointless.

A key rattled in the lock. The door swung wide to admit Beth, soaked from the rain from the small trip of getting beer and food. A bag was dropped with a clink of bottles on the table, Beth's now-free hand flipping on the light switch.

"Holy – Charlie, what the fuck are you doing sitting in the dark?"

Squinting at the sudden, shitty luminosity of the motel main lights, Charlie shook her head. "Just sitting." She stretched out her legs along the floor, having found it more fitting to ponder Pamela's death than sitting on an uncomfortable bed.

Beth rolled her eyes and came into the room fully. She packed away the beer into the mini-fridge. "So weird sometimes," she muttered. Charlie ignored her.

After a few minutes, Beth sat on one of the beds, fresh beer in hand, cap popping off with a soft hiss. They remained in silence for a while, Beth unable to find a way to broach any subject, and Charlie not in the mood to talk.

The click and slap of the phone was the only sound bar a few passing cars outside.

Finally, Beth seemed to get bored. "So, when are the boys going to get here?"

Charlie could see an affected nonchalance in Beth's features, but, underneath, the girl was impatient. Her cousin had heard a lot about the boys growing up, much like Charlie had. Hunter families were few and far between, and John Winchester and his boys were well known. She'd been dying to meet them for years. Charlie held back a smile.

A faint rustling sound, followed by a rapid appearance of static and a tear, heralded the sudden arrival of Angels.

Beth shot back on the bed in surprise, dropping her bottle to slip a knife out of her boot in defense. A few seconds passed before she realized her reaction. Clearing her throat, she slid back to her previous position, but kept the knife unsheathed. On the floor, foam from the bottle fizzed out onto the carpet.

Charlie sighed, leaning back against the wall and bringing her knees up to rest her arms. "Your appearance must be good news."

Uriel sneered, silent and dismissive. He wandered over to the table, beginning a pointless perusal of the remains of the shopping bag.

Castiel remained where he was in the corner. "Our reason for being here is not good news."

Charlie looked at Castiel. He was frowning, confused. She gave him a little half-smile. "Sorry. I was being sarcastic. It's never good news when you appear."

His expression cleared, and then turned slightly contrite. "That is true."

There was another rattle of keys in the lock, along with Sam's muffled voice. "Dean, knock first."

"But they know we're coming. We told them to meet up with us."

"Doesn't mean they're not getting dressed or something. Just knock."

Charlie rolled her eyes. "Come in for all our sakes," she called. "And brace yourselves."

"Told ya," Dean muttered, pushing the door open. They stopped short at the sight of the Angels, Uriel having reclaimed his initial spot in front of Castiel. Charlie wondered if it was a dominance thing. She knew Castiel stood up for himself, but he seemed to give deference to Uriel in matters like this unless he needed to step in.

Charlie listened absently to the argument that commenced, studying the Angel for lack of interest in the petty back and forth between Dean and Uriel. He was lurking quietly in the corner, but she had no idea why. _What are you thinking about? _She wondered. _His body language is much easier to read when he's alone_, she thought. This blank expression around Uriel, combined with his stiff wings**,** didn't lend to any reading on him at all.

She was brought out of her thoughts when he tried to interject some understanding towards Dean, but Uriel spoke over him, sharp and cutting. Castiel pressed his lips tight and looked away. _Why? Why back off?_ _Where's the Angel that had vibrated power in order to frighten me?_ _The one who'd pressed a warning fear into Dean when he'd threatened to send him back to Hell?_ Uriel's threats were equally as dreadful, but Dean brushed them aside more casually than he had done with Castiel. She didn't understand the distinction.

There was a brief silence, and Charlie felt cold at Uriel's next words. "Now seven Angels have been murdered. All of them from our garrison. The last one was killed tonight."

Oh. _Oh._

A twinge in her chest quickly grew into a yawning emptiness. The feeling crawled into her stomach to sit there, heavy and silent. Dead Angels... that wasn't right.

"Demons?" Dean asked, carefully.

Charlie watched Uriel. His demeanor was vastly different from several minutes ago. He looked _remorseful_. Affected by the deaths of his kind. It was an unnatural expression, ill-suited for his features. A thought that she should have more respect toward someone who'd lost his own crossed her mind, but it didn't sit right with her. There was something about his contrasting behavior that was decidedly… off.

Even Dean seemed suspicious, narrowing his eyes and asking, "How they doin' it?"

Uriel sighed. "We don't know."

"I'm sorry," Sam interrupted, "but what do you want _us_ to do about it? I mean, a Demon with juice to ice Angels has got to be out of our league, right?"

"We can handle the Demons, thank you very much," Uriel assured him, slipping his hands into his pockets.

Charlie's instincts reacted unpleasantly to his thanks. It was such a normal phrase to say, and nothing about Uriel had been normal since she'd met him. She stood slowly, slipping her phone into her pocket. Her ass, numb from sitting in one position so long, tingled with the return of blood flow. Whatever this little... exchange was, she didn't like it. Beth didn't seem to**,** either. The young woman had slowly turned her back to the wall, hand low but ready with her blade.

"Once we find whoever it is," Castiel intoned lowly. His glance to them all was fleeting. Charlie suspected he was cautious in case Uriel decided to speak up against him again. She wanted to snap at him. _Stop this childishness. _

There was a moment of silence, before Charlie frowned at Dean's' sudden shift from suspicious to mocking. "So you need _our_ help, hunting a Demon?"

Charlie sighed, stepping forward on the off chance there would be confrontation, but Castiel came out from his corner. The next few minutes bordered on nonsensical, and _more_ than disbelieving.

Angels were condoning the torture of another being. And they wanted Dean to do the torturing.

Dean glowered at Castiel, asking him not to do this, but Charlie stepped forward, keeping just out of reach of Uriel. Not that it would make much of a difference, she suspected, but still. She tried to keep her voice as neutral and even as possible. "Is this why you brought him back?"

Uriel ignored her, moving to lean on the back of a chair, giving Dean a dark, hard look. Castiel**,** however, turned his gaze to her, brow creasing in unease. She couldn't place what he was feeling, but by the tear opening behind him and the flare of his wings, she knew they were going to leave.

Castiel's eyes widened a fraction when she stepped into his space to grab his sleeve, and then she was yanked into the tear. Her last coherent thought was of how the downward beat of his wings nearly enveloped her in a cloud of black. The brush of feathers whispered across her skin, and then she was _somewhere else_.

* * *

_There was light. It was both too bright and too dim, flashing across her closed eyelids._

_A static surge snapped across her skin, pulling her apart, only to compress her again._

_Her nose was burning with the smell of ozone and fire._

_Her ears rang with voices. All were dull and distant until they weren't, piercing her eardrum with sharp staccatos and lilting screams._

_Her mind fractured, thoughts imploding to echo around her, only to suck inwards in reverse, forcing her whole. Tumultuous emotions roiled in her gut, stealing her breath. Anger burned, sorrow drowned her, and happiness had a sharp hysterical edge that bounced around to merge with everything else._

_She smiled. _

_She wept._

_Her throat bled when her soul surged up to cry out, seeking release to soar among the chaos. She could feel the thinning strings of her consciousness cling to it, refusing to be parted. Not yet. Not yet._

_She laughed._

* * *

When they reappeared, Charlie's knees gave out to crack against the concrete beneath her. Her vision blurred and her ears rang. She closed her eyes, breathing shallowly to stem the nausea.

"Jesus, Charlie! What the hell?" That sounded like Dean but it was muffled, and loud, and drumming off her senses. _Too much. Go away._ She felt like laughing. She felt like crying. She could do neither.

A hand, skin dark and hot enough to brand her, wrapped around her throat and lifted, suspending her in the air. Dimly aware of her own hand still clutching Castiel's sleeve in a painful grip, Charlie knew without looking that it was a furious Uriel.

"What _are_ you? What _was_ that? Answer me!" He shook her. She whimpered, unable to get enough air. Unable to move against him. Unable to move at all.

"Let her go, you freak!"

"Uriel. Put. Her. Down. **Now**."

She was released slowly, but her legs wouldn't hold. Dean and Castiel quickly took hold of either arm and carefully lowered her to sit against a wall.

"Charlie, what the hell was that?"

She blinked slowly. An episode was rushing up to meet her, dragging down her shoulders and causing her head to loll. She would have unbalanced had Castiel not gently pushed her straight again. How far along the episode was, Charlie wasn't sure. The concrete was gray already, so there was no basis for comparison. She didn't have the energy to raise her head to anyone.

"What is she?" Uriel demanded again, pacing to stand within her line of vision. His shoes, shiny and new looking, were all she could see.

"Jesus, shut up, junkless. Cas, what the hell happened?"

"I... am unsure. I have never had anyone react to transporting this way."

"But you did it before, when she nearly died with Anna."

"Yes, but she was unconscious at the time."

"I could feel her Castiel," Uriel countered sharply. "Don't act dense. She was flying apart at the seams! What _is_ she?"

_I'm just Charlie._

"I don't know."

_Don't let me sink_, she thought. _I'll drown... I'll fade..._

Uriel growled, stepping back out of her line of sight. "Enough of this. We are wasting time. She's not going anywhere. Figure it out later."

Dean gently tipped her head up and back against the wall for balance. It allowed her to see. They were in some sort of warehouse. Dean's skin was in pale undertones of gray. So was Castiel's. This attack was coming on faster than the others.

Dean sighed, before grinding out, "We'll be back in a minute, Charlie. Rest."

_No. Don't leave. I'll die like this. I'm dying. Kieran said I'm dying. Don't leave._

They stood. Castiel moved left, stopping at a point on the wall Charlie couldn't see. They began talking about Alastair. Was he inside a room? Is that what they were looking into? Was Dean to torture him now?

Charlie knew that Dean didn't want to torture the Demon. Why was he going to? There was a reason, she was sure. Something niggling at her from the back of her mind. She blinked slowly, sluggishly focusing on the hem of Castiel's coat. It was a nice coat. Flowy and large. Comfortable looking. She wondered if he'd let her borrow it for a while. Would it fit her? Would it reach the floor? He was a few inches taller than her but it was a _long_ coat, and it was _cold_ here. Cold enough that she could feel it. She'd left without a jacket. Why had she been so silly?

An indefinite amount of time passed. There were moments of quiet, scattered by raised voices. They sounded angry. Upset. Why? What was there to be angry about? Oh. Angels. Angels were dying. That was sad. Why was that sad?

The darker one left. That was good. Why was that good? Was he the angry one?

The coat moved along as the Angel walked. He talked to Dean for a time. Charlie listened quietly. An Angel with doubts. She'd heard that before. What did that mean?

More time passed. The man in the leather jacket quietly assembled tools onto a table. Charlie didn't know why. He looked sad. Was there something broken?

When he was finished, he slowly wheeled the cart to the part of the wall she couldn't see. Charlie lost interest, searching to find the coat again. When she found it, it was heading her way. Such a nice coat. The hem swished with the man's footsteps, quiet and scuffing gently against the dust and debris on the floor. It was very dusty here. Where was here?

The boots stopped just shy of her right hand. Slowly, the man crouched, hands loose between his knees. He was quiet for a bit. "Can you hear me, Charlie?"

_Of course I can_.

"Charlie?"

_Yes._

His hand, skin hot but nowhere near the burn of the darker one earlier, cupped the left side of her face. His little, ring and middle finger slid under her ear, index over it, and his thumb pressed lightly on her cheek bone. He gently turned her head towards him fully. "Look at me."

_I am_, she thought, eyes focused on his other hand hanging loose between his knees.

"_**Look at me**_."

The command shivered over her skin and down into her bones, rattling enough to jar her senses. Her dimming vision was less dull. With an enormous effort, Charlie raised her eyes to his. His expression was fierce, but deeply concerned. Why was he so worried?

"_**Come out of the dark.**_"

His skin warmed to faint pink, blue eyes pale but growing clearer and darker by the second. She struggled to stay above the sinking tide that threatened to drag her back down. He placed a second hand on the other side of her face. His essence burned across her skin, blazing at his hand print on her ribs to sink deep into her bones. It _pulled_.

With a gasp, Charlie came fully out of her episode, panting heavily. Everything rushed in. Dean was torturing Alastair. Castiel had doubts. Uriel had left. She'd traveled through the rift and had sunk into an episode with alarming swiftness. She'd gone down deep enough that Castiel had to literally pull her out.

Charlie met Castiel's gaze. Intense curiosity was mingled with a wary suspicion. Shit. What the hell was she supposed to do when an Angel began to think she was a bad guy?

* * *

_A/N: Thank you for follows, favourites, and reviews! You're all gems. ZeB xx_


	9. Open Mouth, Insert Foot

"_Without contraries there is no progression. Attraction and repulsion, reason and energy, love and hate, are necessary to human existence." - William Blake_

**9\. Open mouth, insert foot.**

_**Date: End of December, 2008.**_

_**Location: Cheyenne, Wyoming - an abandoned warehouse.**_

The warehouse factory was filled with tables and chairs, rusting pipes, and old abandoned machinery that had definitely seen better days. Nothing in the dark place screamed 'currently used for normal purposes' to Charlie, so she ignored it as best as she could.

Curled in on herself, she sat cross-legged on one end of a long white table, her back to the iron door that Dean was behind. She stared down at a fraying hem on the end of her jeans, absently wondering if it was time to buy a new pair. Castiel remained rigid, standing to her left. He kept a silent vigil on the door. He had helped her up and to the table a few minutes after her downward spiral, but he hadn't spoken to her since. Even though she loathed what was happening with Dean a few feet away, and she hadn't done anything against the Angels and their mission, Charlie felt a wretchedness from the distrust and disappointment that had been in Castiel's gaze.

_Why does everything feel so wrong?_

A scream, muffled as it was, reached them. Charlie frowned severely. Dean was in there at the request of Angels. Forty years in Hell. Tortured by the same Demon in that room…

She turned her head in the direction it came from, but another shout, cut off to a gurgling noise, forced her to turn away. Grinding her teeth, Charlie found herself looking at Castiel. His tense wings, shifting and freezing at odd intervals, betrayed his feelings about this endeavor, but he was looking over her shoulder with a blank stare.

"You were there," she said softly to him. "You were the one who brought him back from that place." Hands stuffed into the pockets of his coat, Castiel frowned. In the back of her mind, she knew she wouldn't get him to talk about what was happening. He'd expressed enough to Dean before he had gone in, but he still hadn't stopped it, even when Uriel wasn't there to reinforce the orders. A brief image of Dean in Bobby's library came to her mind: Dean's questioning of why he'd been brought back. "You raised him. Remade him. You made him hope. You gave him a belief that he was saved for a _reason_… and this is what you do?"

He remained silent for a some time. Charlie couldn't stand the noises anymore. She made to stand, but a steel grip on her wrist forced her to remain where she was. She stared at the offending Angel. Again, he refused to look at her. "Why are you doing this?" she growled softly.

His jaw ticked. His countenance turned more severe, and his wings twitched in an aborted movement. "Orders."

"Bullshit." There was no way he would just - but would he?

"They are my orders," he reiterated fiercely.

"And you just blindly obey?"

He finally looked at her. His gaze was burning, eyes as ethereal as the first time she had met him. She was starting to wonder if this was a part of him trying to escape Human emotions. "We have been over this already, I believe."

She had a vision of when he'd displayed his power over her in the motel. "I don't care. You're avoiding my question. How old are you, anyway? You were made before Humans, right? A few million years, and you've never once questioned your Father's choices?"

He released her arm, slipping his other hand out of his pocket to let them hang by his sides. "Dean obeyed his father – "

"The fact you're using him tells me how desperately you want to justify your own reasoning here." Charlie watched him for a moment. "And from what I heard of John Winchester, he was an obsessed Hunter who manipulated and emotionally abused his children."

He bristled at her tone, and Charlie could see a cresting wave of his Grace roil across his shoulder, smooth down his chest and abdomen, to fade at his hip. His wings flared in restrained frustration and anger. He slammed his palms on the table. "My brethren are _dying_ \- "

Suddenly it wasn't so important. Suddenly, Charlie could only feel the desolate helplessness that Castiel was pinned under. His family were dying, and those still living were callous and intent on surviving this impending Apocalypse, while warning him to remain distant from those he was starting to care for.

_And not even that_, she thought. _He's had to watch his charge walk into a room to torture the very Demon who'd inflicted an untold agony for four decades. _It didn't excuse his unwillingness to interfere, but for the first time she was beginning to understand.

Shuffling over with a cautious breath, she placed herself in the space between his hands, and hesitantly grasped his head, cradling it gently, thumbs pressing at the temples. "I'm sorry," she intoned softly. He lifted his head and she touched her forehead to his, much like she'd often done to Beth when she they were younger and had argued. "I'm sorry to question your beliefs. You are beyond my scope of understanding. I understand that I have no right, but something is wrong here. All of it. It's just – "

He deflated, closing his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, his mouth followed suit, but the lights flickered above them. Slowly separating themselves, they looked around warily. Charlie spotted the rift several feet behind Castiel, before Anna was there, pale fawn wings settling at her back.

Without looking in Anna's direction, Castiel stood straighter. Charlie watched him draw in a quiet breath, before he allowed a resigned drop in his shoulders. "Anna."

"Hello Castiel."

He turned his head to glance behind him at the new addition to their little warehouse but never looked at the other Angel directly. He turned his gaze back to Charlie, positioning himself in front of her in such a way that Anna couldn't see his hand grasp the hem of her jeans to pull her closer. Charlie, trying to be as subtle as possible, planted her hands on the metal table and slid inch by inch, until he tugged her legs to slip either side of his hips, nearly hidden by his coat. She had absolutely no idea what he was up to.

Standing even straighter, he placed his hands inside his pockets, seemingly satisfied by Charlie's positioning. Dismissing his sister with a glance, and a tone that was infused with boredom and disappointment, he responded, "Your human body."

"It was destroyed, I know." She moved towards them casually. Charlie tensed, placing her hands on either side of her thighs on the cold table for leverage should she need to move quickly. Not that the Angel wouldn't be able to smite or damage her in some way, but still, being prepared to run would help. She wasn't directly involved in the Angels dispute with Anna, but she'd certainly be in the crossfire. It also helped that Cas was between her and – oh. Is that what he'd been doing? Placing himself between possible dangers from his sister? "But I guess I'm sentimental. Called in some old favors and..."

The muffled shouts and screams echoed out from Dean's direction. Castiel shifted minutely, uncomfortable with the evidence of what he and Uriel had been asked to do. "You shouldn't be here. We still have orders to kill you."

"Somehow, I don't think you'll try." She strode around Cas to Charlie's left. "Hello, Charlie."

Charlie twisted slightly to keep Anna in her vision. "Anna."

The Angel looked away, taking in the warehouse with a quick glance, before settling on the door. "Where's Uriel?"

"He went to receive Revelation."

Anna was silent for a moment. "Right." The screams, duller now, drifted out from behind the door. There was several minutes of silence. Castiel looked at Charlie, tilting his head meaningfully. Confused at what he was getting at, Charlie quietly slid off the table to stand by his left side. Her back was no longer to Anna. The other Angel turned. "Why are you letting Dean do this?"

Castiel stepped back and turned away. What he said next caused Charlie to close her eyes. "He's doing God's work." How many times had she heard that? She knew God existed now for definite - how could he not with what she had seen in her lifetime and the Angel's very existence - but how could such a being like Castiel believe that 'God's work' was a suitable answer for their shortcomings? Even if it _was_ God's work, believing that a Human must do it was a load of bullshit. God's wrath was well known, why not just fix this entire problem Himself?

"Torturing? That's God's work?" Anna asked incredulously. "Stop him, Cas. Please. Before you ruin the one real weapon you have."

Charlie tensed, stepping to one side so she could easily see both Angels. _Weapon…? Dean was a weapon? A weapon to protect the Seals? _Charlie licked her dry lips. _No, that couldn't be right. Sam and Dean weren't the only ones trying to stop that. So, what? A weapon for what? Against Demons? Lucifer?_

"Who are _we_ to question the Will of God?" Castiel asked, voice rasping with an emotion Charlie couldn't name. It didn't hold much conviction. A sentence like that would normally drum up feelings of anger, or even righteous indignation, but he sounded hollow. Something to be said just for the sake of saying it. An appropriate response to the question posed.

"Unless this isn't His Will."

Castiel responded quickly. "Then where do the orders come from?"

"I don't know. One of our superiors maybe. But not Him."

Charlie stepped away when Anna moved forward, almost, but not quite, crowding Castiel. Cas turned to face her as she spoke. In less than a minute, the female Angel impressed upon Castiel that what was happening wasn't right, but she phrased the words in such a way that it forced Cas to question what was happening, instead of outright rejecting the opinion that what they were doing wasn't God's work. To make things even more effective, Anna confirmed that Castiel was feeling doubt. He looked uncomfortable at the prospect. Anna's words expressed her own doubt, her own fear, and Charlie began to wonder what that meant for an Angel.

The screaming continued. Anna, in what Charlie assumed was a hint of desperation and pleading, ran her fingers lightly over Cas's hand, where it rested on the table edge. He frowned at the contact, looking down with an expression Charlie couldn't place.

Charlie felt an unusual tightening in her stomach at the thought of Anna touching him. _Is this affection? Manipulation? Desperation?_ A brief thought popped into her head of what Angels were to each other. Did brother and sister mean actual siblings, or was it a clan or pack thought process? Whatever it was, Charlie didn't like it. It bordered on coercion by means with which he didn't look comfortable.

She tried to ignore the other possible reasoning; yes, he was attractive. Or, at least, his vessel was… but maybe it was the personality as well that caused her to feel this lurch of -

_Stop it, Charlie._ _That isn't even his body. He's an _Angel_._ _You've had too many ups and downs already without adding this into any of it. _Plus, the entire thought process just screamed blasphemy and desecration. This had to count as defiling one of God's creations with her thoughts.

Charlie nearly missed Anna's imploring words and Cas' strong reaction to her implication that he would help her. "Together, we - "

"Together?" He whipped his hand away violently, recoiling away from her with a snarl. "I am _nothing _like you. You _fell_!" he growled. He walked away down the length of the table with a dismissive, "Go," that he sent in Anna's direction.

"Cas," Anna said softly.

He stopped and turned to face her, leveling a dark look at at her pleading features. His wings flared out, stiff and ominous, a display of power and domination. "**Go**."

Anna hesitated, eyes shining in the faint light above them, and then she was gone.

His wings dropped slowly, his gaze along with them. He stared at the floor for some time. Charlie gave him peace during this, simply walking towards him to the end of the table across from the door. She settled against the edge beside him. They were facing opposite directions, Cas unable to look at where his charge was, and Charlie unwilling to turn her back to it like she did at the beginning. Hands resting on the lip, she tapped her fingers soundlessly in a nonsensical rhythm. "Is falling a choice?" she asked softly, after several moments.

Blinking slowly, Cas raised his head with a frown. He looked confused and wary, rising from his own dark thoughts. "It can be," he responded gravely. "Lucifer was cast out, but Anna made her own choice."

Charlie thought on that for a moment. She wanted to ask more about the consequences for doubting Angels, but Cas looked forlorn and lost. She patted the table beside her. Still looking a bit lost, he turned and half leaned on it at her invitation. The narrow end of the table forced them to press flush together. Charlie pursed her lips, looking around the warehouse to find something to occupy her thoughts. Shifting her hands back slightly to give them more space, her fingers brushed against soft feathers. They tickled her skin, and she just barely resisted the urge to twitch and scratch the area. To distract herself, she gently nudged his shoulder with hers. "What's Heaven like?"

He turned his head to regard her. This close, his stare, normal in comparison to his more ethereal moments, was intense. Focusing on her breathing, Charlie tried to allow the feelings bursting through her gut to pass on. It was like, once the door was opened, she just couldn't look at him quite the same. He looked away then, his eyes shifting side to side as he thought. "It is a plane of existence, created by the combination of Human thoughts, in reflection of my Father's design."

Charlie narrowed her eyes at his innocent expression. "That's putting it simply, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"Right."

There was a beat of silence.

"Explaining further would be helpful," she encouraged.

He blinked, tilting his head to trace his eyes over her features. "My Father created us, before Humans, in Heaven. For Man to exist, they had to be separate. Physical forms, like your Human vessels for souls, cannot exist in Heaven, or at least they can't for very long. It is a separate entity from Earth, but it is still connected to allow souls to pass through."

"Hence why you need a vessel to be here on Earth without damaging our vessels," she guessed. He nodded. "Can Humans perceive your true forms in Heaven?"

"Some can. Those who were gifted on Earth are gifted similarly in Heaven. The soul is a representation of the person. Seeing our true forms, even up there, can affect a Humans mind."

Charlie nodded absently, taking everything in as best she could. A thought occurred. "Wait, you called Heaven an entity. You make it sound like it's alive."

"In a way, it is. When Humans die, their soul ascends to Heaven, where their life, and their thoughts and personality, merge with the celestial energies to form pockets in which they live."

Charlie frowned, crossing her arms in thought. "So... Heaven as a whole is made up of tiny pockets of an individual's desired reality?"

He looked pleased. "Yes. They live on in their happiest memories."

"Oh," she said softly, dipping her head to look at the toes of her boots. Raising her eyebrows, she mused, "That actually sounds kinda nice." Turning her head to look back up at him, she asked, "Can people cross over? Meet their friends, or someone they've always wanted to meet?"

"Yes, and no. There are rules. In order to preserve the delicate balance of consciousness, they can never merge. People get lost. Some get so entangled in a place they are unfamiliar with that they begin to lose themselves. Angels usually step in to help, but if we are not there, it can become destructive. The person is no longer happy, which upsets the balance. Sometimes Heaven rights itself, but not always."

Charlie frowned, looking away from his direct gaze. "Huh. So Angels are like the shepherds and guardians. Still, though. It doesn't seem so nice anymore."

"Why?"

"To never see anyone else…? To live the same things over and over again…? Surely it would drive a person mad anyway. There's only so much happiness a Human can tolerate before it becomes stagnant. Wouldn't _that_ upset the balance?"

"Heaven creates the people for you. Anyone you wish to see, you will see."

"But they're not really there."

"No."

"Do people notice?"

"Very few, but they accept it, grateful to have the memories to explore."

Charlie was quiet for a moment. What memories she had that were pleasant were of Martha's family, but she had spent her life feeling like she'd never really belonged there. Terrible, abusive parents had conditioned her to keep to herself. No one deserved to be saddled with an abomination and leech like her. Charlie understood now what they had done to her, but still…

The contrast of Martha's family life had been terrifying. It had taken her a year to realize that any punishment Martha would dole out if she didn't adhere strictly to the rules of the house, would be met with a baffling order of no dessert and a grounding for a few days. Nothing more. No physical abuse, and she had never raised her voice above stern, unless she had been worried for Charlie's safety. She had been happy at Martha's. At least, as close to happy as she thought she would ever get, considering her reservations from experiencing nine years of maltreatment.

There had been birthday celebrations. Christmases. Presents and praise. Martha had smiled at her a lot. Hugged her often. Gave her responsibilities that would strengthen her character, like training and looking out for Beth, or working with the animals on the ranch. They were family, and Charlie was immensely grateful for them, but she suspected the issue with her soul had created a distance she could never shorten. There were a lot of times where all she had felt was disconnected from everything around her.

She wondered what memories would be waiting for her when she died. Would there only be a handful to occupy her before she would begin to grow restless? Did she even deserve to be in Heaven with such meager offerings to add to the balance? She had also tried to commit suicide. Though she hadn't succeeded, the attempt may have been enough to condemn her to eternity in Hell. Well, it had been, until she realized that she may not make it that far if her attacks were accurate predictions of her future. She might just fade into nothing.

"I don't think I'd like it up there," she finally responded reticently.

He moved his hand quickly over hers, grip tight enough to press her softer palm into the edge of the table. Looking up she saw his incredulous features, but he had no time to respond when a sudden commotion exploded from beyond the door. They both tensed, until they recognized Dean's voice in distress.

"Shit," Charlie hissed, pushing away from the table after Cas. They opened the door to see Alastair pinning Dean to a giant, metal Pentagram. Castiel produced the Demon blade and spun the Demon around, plunging it into his shoulder. Alastair growled, shoving Cas back. Charlie stepped into Cas' place, planting one foot down for grounding and swinging the other up to kick the top of the handle with the flat of her foot, forcing the blade further in. Alastair gave a shout, stepping forward to backhand her over the torture table.

She landed with a pained grunt, spotting Dean gasping on the floor, and muttered "Fuck." Ignoring the battle of Angel and Demon, Charlie scrambled toward Dean. Bleeding from several wounds, he was struggling to stay conscious. Unable to assess the damage with the chaos around them, Charlie could only watch Dean pass out from the pain. Cursing again, she maneuvered behind him, slipped her arms under his own, and carefully dragged him out of the line of fire.

Charlie looked over when a sickening squelch reached her ears. Alastair had pinned Cas to a hook on the wall and was chanting something. Castiel's essence snapped around his form, unable to touch the Demon because of the enchantment. His eyes and mouth began to glow. _Fuck_, she thought. If she didn't help Cas, she'd be left on her own with Alastair and a wounded Dean.

Quickly spotting the Demon blade, she snatched it up. The next moment was a blur of incoherence. Charlie made to strike from the side, hand reaching out to grab Cas' wrist to pull him away once she'd distracted Alastair, but as soon as she touched his skin her spine snapped rigid, vision whiting out. Pain seared across her nerves. A flickering image sparked into her mind, a carousel of strangers spinning like an old movie reel; each picture different, but all had the same happy expression. A final flash of a red kite before something tore inside. She screamed, skin splitting like dough, pouring blood into her throat. Fire licked up her body to seep into her mouth and nose. Hooks pierced her shoulders, dragging her down down _down _-

Ice meandered up her veins in sharp relief. Charlie gasped, hearing the distant clatter of the knife she'd held dropping to the concrete. She was held upright and tightly by Cas, the Angel oblivious to all but what was happening with Sam and Alastair. _Sam? When did Sam get here? _Charlie strained to listen.

There was terrible darkness churning under Sam's skin. It was worse than before, fogging over his features like breath over a mirror, feathering across his eyes and mouth, only to retreat again.

The information was disjointed to her senses, but she managed to piece together that Demons weren't the ones killing Angels, and that Sam was now strong enough - not just to send Demons back to Hell - but to kill them too. The brief event of Alastair's death was horrifying. Sam's face was even more so. He looked so damn _pleased_. So satisfied that he'd accomplished what he'd set out to do.

_What the Hell is going on?_

Several minutes passed in silence. Eventually pain, and the thought of possible collapse, forced Charlie to adjust herself in Cas' grip. Startled that he was still holding her, he let her go. She swayed dangerously. Both Sam and he stepped forward to help, but she recoiled from Sam violently, the darkness in him surging towards the hand outstretched towards her. Sam flinched.

"Go check Dean," she rasped gruffly. He hesitated, but after spotting his brother, he quickly tried to assess his condition. Castiel gripped her elbow tightly to balance her, but she pushed him away gently when he tentatively tried to heal her. "There's nothing to heal," she said truthfully, evidenced by lack of blood on her clothing. The pain had come and gone. The searing burn and tearing flesh had been an illusion, much like when she'd traveled with him through the rift earlier. Her body was fine, if a little shaky with adrenaline. "I'm fine."

The Angel hesitated. Charlie watched Sam try to rouse his brother, and she had a sudden thought. "Don't heal Dean, Cas," she intoned quietly. He frowned. She shook her head. He seemed to be breathing fine, and surely Cas could sense it? Maybe. Charlie hoped he would have made healing Dean a priority if he was in serious trouble given an opportunity. "He needs time to heal on his own. He'll need an excuse not to be up and about dealing with this. Humans can only take so much."

He reluctantly nodded. Healing himself, she waved him away before Sam asked him to do the same for his brother. Charlie ignored Sam for the most part in the next few minutes, only speaking to explain in brief, clipped tones what had happened. They carried Dean between them to Beth, where she sat outside in the Impala, worrying and preparing for the worst.

"Jesus Christ. What happened?" Charlie looked between Sam and her cousin, shaking her head. She'd explain later when she was in a better mood. Beth let it go, cradling Dean in the back seat on the way to the hospital. Sam, silent but an air of shame about him, drove.

* * *

Sitting in the hospital room with an angry Sam, Charlie stoically kept watch over a recovering Dean. Beth went off to get them all food, and Sam tried to convince Charlie to let Dean heal through Castiel. She remained silent.

Unbeknownst to Sam, Beth had regaled the wonderful tale of finding Sam sucking Ruby's blood in the motel room some time after Charlie and Dean had disappeared. A relationship with a Demon, and he was drinking blood like a vampire. It turned her stomach. She couldn't deal with it now, though, not with Dean a physical wreck beside her, and not when she was still trying to figure out what the hell had happened when she'd touched Cas. Sam said Alastair had attempted to pry her off the Angel, but he had interrupted everything not soon after.

When Castiel appeared at the door, she remained where she was, listening to their hushed conversation. Castiel refused Sam's request to heal Dean, just like Charlie had asked him to. Yes, Dean would be in pain, but if it hadn't been for the Angels and their poor decisions, he wouldn't have been here in the first place. She also stuck by the conviction that Dean would need to recover mentally from this. Whatever had gone on inside that room, it hadn't been anywhere near pleasant.

When Sam stormed back into the room, he furiously and forcefully sat in his chair. Charlie looked away from Dean to see Castiel just beyond the door. He looked unsure but determined. Determined to find answers perhaps, and unsure of what he'd find. She wasn't sure herself. She directed her full attention to him and thought, _Go. Find out what you need to. We'll be here._

He gave a short, sharp nod, and vanished.

_Huh. So you _can _hear me._

Beth came in with pre-made sandwiches and coffee.

Charlie thanked her, and unwrapped a BLT while asking, "Where's your car?"

Beth smiled, taking a sip of her coffee. "Had a friend nearby take care of it for me. I'll pick it up later."

Charlie was glad. There was no way she was dealing with Beth's anger on top of it all if her baby was left desolate in bumfuck Egypt.

* * *

It was the small hours of the next night. Despite the protests of some of the nurses, Beth, Charlie and Sam remained by Dean. Her cousin had taken Sam out for a walk to burn off some of his energy and to cool off a bit. Whatever was happening inside him poured off him in waves of frustration. Charlie found she had little sympathy. She freshened herself in a nearby bathroom, returning to the room with a small cardboard cup of tea. Rubbing her face to stem some of the weariness, she startled a bit upon finding Castiel sitting by Dean's bedside.

"Hey," she said softly, walking in to stand beside him. The Angel's eyes were closed, head tilted back against the uncomfortable visitors chair she had occupied earlier. Opening his eyes, he regarded her silently. Charlie frowned at his despairing disposition. He looked like he'd lost - "What happened?"

He told her everything in deep, quiet tones. How he'd begged Anna to help him, to show him what he was supposed to do. How he remembered to check the trap, only to find Uriel behind it all. He looked away at nothing, hands resting loosely on the arms of the chair. "I fought a friend. A brother. He was going to kill me." It was said with such sorrowful clarity. Charlie inhaled quietly, not certain what to say. Unsure, she stepped into the space between the chair and the wall. Hesitantly, but encouraged by the quiet of the room and the early hours, Charlie raised her hand to tentatively card through his hair. He tipped his head back against the caress, closing his eyes with a sigh.

They stayed like this until Dean stirred. Castiel moved to allow Charlie to sit on the arm of the chair. Removing her hand from his hair, she did so, listening to their conversation. Castiel told him a shortened version of what happened, and Charlie reeled upon learning that Dean was the first Seal, and that he was supposed to stop it all.

When Dean expressed his wish for Cas to find someone else, Cas opened his mouth to respond. Charlie brushed her fingers across his shoulder to get his attention, shaking her head at the Angel to leave him alone. Dean was injured, in pain, and an emotional wreck. He needed time to process everything. Trying to convince him that none of this was his fault wasn't going to penetrate his defenses. _Everything is too raw right now. He needs to work through it, _she thought to him.

Cas silently acknowledged this, nodding once before vanishing. Charlie took his vacated seat, placing her tea on an overbed table. Leaning forward to cross her arms over the sheets, she rested her chin on her forearm, inches away from Dean's hand. They sat in silence for a long time. Eventually, Charlie shifted to turn her head towards the door to rest, closing her eyes. Just when she was about to cross over into sleep, she felt the touch of warm skin on the fingers of her left hand. Sliding her arm out more, she slipped her fingers under Dean's. He didn't grasp them and neither did she. They began to drift off, the simple gesture the only thing grounding them together.

* * *

A/N: Thank you follows, favs, and comments! My updates will most likely be a little bit longer now as I am starting to catch up with the current chapters I am still writing, so apologies! ZeB xx


	10. Time Will Heal Us All Eventually

"_Better to be strong than pretty and useless." ― Lilith Saintcrow._

**10\. Time will heal us all, eventually. **

_**Date: January, 2009.**_

_**Location: Cheyenne, Wyoming - Cheyenne VA Medical Center.**_

Dean didn't speak for three days.

Sam, frustrated by his brother's silence, visited in irregular patterns. He tried talking to Dean, but when that yielded nothing, he began a mixture of a lecture and explanation, none of which actually explained anything. It didn't matter, though, since Dean wasn't interested anyway.

He hadn't told Sam what Alastair said, yet. Charlie kept her silence as well, hoping her disapproval of Sam's actions showed. Dean hadn't told her one way or the other to tell his brother. It wasn't her place anyway.

The darkness under Sam's skin was constant now. When Sam got too close to Charlie, it flowed down to the nearest part of him that was nearest to her, reaching out in what looked like morbid curiosity. Charlie kept her distance, going so far as to avoid contact altogether. She wasn't sure if Sam noticed.

He would vanish to a motel near the hospital during the nights, so Charlie didn't have to deal with it too frequently. Beth kept him company, if only to be present to discourage him from practising more of whatever he was doing with the Demon. Her cousin couldn't control his comings and goings - he was an adult after all - but she could stay safe when Sam knew where she was; he wouldn't practise his new ritual in front of her. Charlie was sure he was oblivious to their knowledge, but he probably suspected it when Charlie began to keep her distance, just like she had after Samhain.

Charlie stayed at the hospital. An excuse of Dean and Sam being all she had left of family bought her some sympathy from the nurses, and she was careful not to cause any fuss. Falling back on her ingrained habits of being as inconspicuous as possible was easy. She knew it worked when she began to hear conversations about the nurses forgetting she was even in the room. The only time she left was to use the bathroom, or to grab a shower in the motel, before returning to sleep by Dean's bedside afterwards.

She didn't speak much during those days, either. It wasn't until Beth began to bring her more than the trashy magazines from the hospital shop that she decided to just speak out loud to the room in general, rather than initiate conversation with Dean (she didn't want him to feel like he had to respond). Her cousin had found an old bookstore a few streets over. Second-hand books, worn, scribbled-in and loved, were one of Charlie's favorite things in the world. Most of what Beth found were romance novels, full of purple prose and highly fluffy sex scenes that were so bad, they were good. To see if Dean would get a kick out of them, Charlie began to read some out loud. Surprisingly, scenes of throbbing members and slick cores didn't garner much of a reaction, so, after several useless tries, Charlie asked Beth to pick something at random from any of the sections in the store.

Beth came back with several books. One had funny limericks. Dean didn't show much of a reaction to them either, so Charlie turned to another, and another. Two had poetry. She read a few, but Dean scrunched his nose up with an incredulous look, so they were cast aside. _At least it was a reaction. _She read a few pages of several more, each resulting in a silent expression of disapproval, until the last one. There didn't seem to be any theme she could gather, and it wasn't until she flicked through the whole tome that she realized someone had combined several pages of other books into this one. There were no notations along the margins. No name. No explanation of why someone had done it, other than a simple scribble on the very first page.

_What you are reading is a sample of the world. In this, I hope you will find something that touches your intellect, your heart, and your soul. The days are long, and life is short. We each make decisions that lead us down terrible paths, but it is what we do to after that makes us who we are._

Carefully gauging Dean, Charlie began to read it out loud, flipping to random pages every time she finished an excerpt.

Castiel visited on the third night, appearing silently in a corner. Beth was long gone. Sam, giving up on talking to his brother for the evening, had left with a simple, but hopeful, "I'll see you in the morning."

Dean was staring at the far wall. Charlie sat low in the chair, book hanging over one arm, finger resting between pages where she'd left off some time ago. The gentle beeping of the monitor broke up the somber silence of the room, but only in fits and starts. He didn't react to the Angel, so Charlie thought he meant to be hidden from them for the moment. The corridor lights brightly illuminated the hall but not enough to disturb them should they wish to sleep. Castiel stood a silent sentinel for an hour, shadowed in a corner. It wasn't until a nurse on her night-shift walked by that he moved. Turning his head to watch the dark-haired woman curiously, the light caught his eyes in such a way that they shimmered.

Charlie turned her eyes away from him to watch the woman as she passed. She was in her late forties, if Charlie had to guess, and moved with the sure, calm gait of someone who was experienced and content in her role. This nurse had been a sympathetic soul to Charlie and Dean, sending them quiet smiles and pleasant anecdotes of gossip that surrounded nurses in an effort to ease his melancholy.

Charlie spoke softly. "'_Only in the darkness, can you see the stars.'_"

Dean shifted his head minutely after a comfortable moment of silence. She kept her gaze on the last spot through the window in which the woman had disappeared.

"Martin Luther King Junior."

Charlie looked at him. His face was turned towards her, the light casting his sharp features in shadow, hiding the bruises and sorrow. She rubbed a thumb over the textured cover of the book. "'_The whole problem with the world is that fools and fanatics are always so certain of themselves, and wiser people so full of doubts.'_"

He licked his lips, turning his head further to watch her. "Bertrand Russell."

Charlie smiled slowly. So he'd been listening. "'_Ships in the harbour are safe, but that's not what ships are built for.'_"

He frowned at that one. "John Shedd?"

She nodded. "'_If you are going through hell, keep going.'_"

"Churchill."

"'_Man often becomes what he believes himself to be.'_"

He hesitated. "Ghandi."

She nodded slowly, leaving the silence to surround them. Finally leading up to what she wished him to hear, she said, "'_Don't be afraid of your fears. They're not there to scare you. They're there to let you know that something is worth it.'_"

His gaze dropped immediately, but he didn't turn away. When fifteen minutes passed with no answer, Charlie placed the book on the bedside locker. Tugging the spare blanket off the end of the bed, she threw it over her legs and settled in to sleep. Closing her eyes, she sighed. "'_Doubt isn't the opposite of faith; it is an element of faith.'_"

For a time, in the small, quiet hours of the morning, the Angel of Thursday kept watch from a darkened corner.

* * *

_**Four days in.**_

"Ooh, apple jello."

There was a beat of silence from the vicinity of the bed, before, "Did you seriously just get excited about hospital food?"

Lifting the little gift from the hospital Gods, Charlie inhaled the scent of apple appreciatively. "Well, I used to like the puddings, but I got a bad one once and it kinda put me off for a long time after." Eyeing the little spoon on the other side of his tray, Charlie flicked her eyes up and hoped she conveyed a pleading look for him to pass it to her.

Bemused, he did so. "You been in a lot of hospitals?"

Charlie nodded, gently scraping at the top of the jello, watching the substance try its best to smoothly slide onto the utensil. Turning the spoon over, she swept it across her tongue, and then pulled it out so she could talk, "Spent my whole life in them, I suppose. Between my first few years of 'accidents' because of my parents, or trying to figure out what was wrong with me, I've been in and out a lot."

"'What's wrong with you?'"

Charlie hesitated, realizing she'd made a mistake already. _Think of something. _"Yeah. You know, my parents kind of fucked me up, and the whole thing with Martha suddenly killing my Poltergeist grandmother, and then in and out of foster homes for a year, and then becoming part of the Criven's family where I learned to be a Hunter... Not exactly normal. Had a lot of... issues." She cleared her throat, depositing the jello back onto the tray for the moment. "You gonna eat your chicken? I'll text Beth to bring you some junk food, and I'll eat this."

He gestured wordlessly to the untouched food, and she dug in without much thought of its blandness. She was used to it after all.

* * *

The nights never changed much for them, except one small difference from that night when Castiel had kept watch. The first two days, they had slept with their hands touching lightly. On the third day, and from then on, Charlie (to give her back a break) slept stretched out on the chair with her feet on the bed. The only way to anchor her hand by his was to hold it. Dean didn't protest.

* * *

_**A week and a half in.**_

He was getting better. The bruises were yellowing, and he could breath easier once his ribs had begun to heal over. They'd be letting him out soon, hopefully.

After a while, he started dropping subtle hints that maybe she should head back to the motel to sleep somewhere since hospital chairs couldn't be all that comfortable. Unsure at first, Charlie wondered if he was concerned she knew about his nightmares.

"Remember those issues I said I had?"

Dean was on his left side, lying almost flat and watching her on the chair she'd occupied since he'd been brought in. "Yeah," he said gruffly, dark eyes watching her curiously.

"Well, I never stopped having them. I was on so many meds up to a few weeks before I met you and Bobby… and Cas," she added. "I'm still afraid I'm back in that house. I have nightmares about it. And I have them about this job, and what my future holds. Some nights my head is quiet, like I told you before, and I sleep really well, but…" She sighed and looked at him frankly. "Do you want me to go? Is your hinting because you don't want me to see you - "

"No." His answer shocked the both of them. Frowning, he looked away in thought. "It's not that. I just - " He blew out a frustrated breath. "I just don't want you to be here if you want to be somewhere else."

Charlie raised her eyebrows. "Is that it?"

His eyes flew back up to hers, and he scowled. "What do you mean, 'Is that it?' That's a damn good reason: caring for your comfort."

Charlie smiled at his consternation. "Dean, if I wanted to be somewhere else, I would be. And if it's about comfort, I'll tell you what; move over. You're well enough to share for a bit, right?"

He grumbled, but obediently slid over, remaining on his side.

"Good, 'cause that chair _is_ a killer after a while." Charlie removed her shoes, and climbed into the bed, shoving the blankets over to his side should he need to shift in the night. Nothing worse than being stuck underneath the sheets when you feel like shit, she thought. Finally, she reached behind her and tugged up the bed rail just enough to stop her falling out.

His arm brushed hers. "You're cold."

"I'm always cold."

He draped the top most blanket over her shoulders. Now facing each other, Charlie watched Dean's features for a while in the shadows. They were both tired, but they were unused to such close proximity. The notion of sleep made Charlie remember something odd, and she wondered if it would be enough to break the slight discomfort between them. "Elephants sleep standing up during non-REM sleep, but lie down for REM sleep."

Dean blinked at her, and he was silent for a time, before saying, "Huh. I didn't know that. Do you always think of stuff like that?"

Charlie hummed in confirmation. "Yeah. Not everyone appreciates it though," she added, wistfully.

His large hand crept to hers, and enveloped it in a now familiar gesture, warming up the skin. "You know any more?"

* * *

Charlie blinked at the laptop screen in front of her. A chat window was open, the text box half filled with a conversation she was having with… Charlie squinted. JJTrickster and Ava. Left hand curled around a cup of coffee, she absently ran her thumb over the cardboard sleeve.

_...I don't drink coffee_. The taste was too foul. Charlie wondered why she had asked for it.

The fingers of her right hand were toying with a pen, hovering above a notebook filled with various scribbles and notes. It was her own writing, and the notes were summations of paragraphs from two small books on Greek and Christian Mythology. The notepad had two columns, each titled with someone of interest: Micah and Atropos.

Charlie frowned. Looking back at the screen, she saw the time: 3:46pm. Placing the pen down, she swept the mouse over the time in the corner to get the date. March twenty seventh.

"That's not possible," she said softly.

A passing waiter stopped at her utterance and smiled politely. He was tall and thin, with short dark hair slicked back with too much product. Charlie thought he looked quite young to be working in -

_Where am I?_

"Can I help you, ma'am?" His voice was soft, and marginally higher than she expected. There was nothing definitively menacing about him, so Charlie glanced around quickly to take in her surroundings before she answered his question. She was in a small diner, decorated a retro pink in places, with a long blue counter, black and white tiled floor, and dark tables. The shirt the young teen was wearing had a name embroidered over the left pectoral, proclaiming the place to be Angel's Diner.

"You've got to be kidding me."

The teen frowned in confusion, but kept his smile. "Sorry?"

The tag on the right side of his chest told her his name. She cleared her throat. "Sorry, Steve. I'm just a little confused. Could you tell me where we are?"

He made a strange face, almost like he wanted to laugh at her poor joke, but when she continued looking at him expectantly, his eyebrows rose in surprise. "Um, we're in Angel's Diner ma'am."

"Where is that?"

"McAlester, Oklahoma?"

_Oklahoma. Right. _Seeing that he was straining to stay his expression of concern, she forced a grateful, apologetic smile. "Just a bit more, if that's alright. How long have I been here?"

Steve glanced over to a waitress behind the counter of the diner. There wasn't that many customers, so the older woman was able to keep a careful eye on the guy. Charlie gave a brief wave, hoping it conveyed that everything was ok. Steve turned back to her. "Well, I've been working every day this week, ma'am, and you've been in just as much since Monday."

She'd been here every day for nearly a week. That was... "Right. Thanks, Steve."

He hesitated. "Can I… help with anything else? Would you like fresh coffee?"

"Hmm? Oh, no," she waved him off, "It's fine. Can't drink the stuff normally. I wouldn't mind some water though."

"Uh, s-sure. But, uh, you've been drinking coffee every day, ma'am."

"Oh. Just water is fine. Thank you."

He nodded and walked away. Charlie slid the coffee away from her and leaned back in the booth. The air filled leather cushion _puffed_ in protest. _Why the hell am I in a diner in Oklahoma?_ The last thing she remembered was Beth going out for food back in South Dakota. Dean had recovered well enough to leave the hospital, but the doctors had warned him to rest for at least two weeks before going back to life as normal. The foursome had traveled around to ease Dean's energetic frustration of being in one place, taking on mild cases or just going sight seeing for a break. When he was finally ready to go back to 'normal', Beth and Charlie had decided to split from them for a while so they wouldn't get sick of each other. Seven weeks with the same company could be tiring.

The women had taken on a case quite quickly with Bobby's help, and after four days they had moved on to the nearest motel to search for the next one. Beth had gone out, and… _And what? What happened? _Her mind was blank.

That had been nearly a month ago.

Her phone vibrated in her jeans pocket, inexplicably on silent. She pulled it out, flipped it open, and watched her screen fill with notifications. Twenty nine missed calls in the last two days alone from Bobby, Martha, and Beth, and thirty five unopened messages. Scrolling through the list, she realized the three of them had been sending her texts, leaving her voicemails, and ringing her phone for the last three weeks or so. She hadn't answered any of them.

Well, that told her a few things. There was obviously something wrong. Not just with her memory loss and relocation, but there was no evidence of contact from Dean or Sam in those weeks either. Had something happened to them as well?

Another issue was the fact that Charlie didn't just poof into the future (at least that she knew of), because surely that meant she wouldn't have a backup of messages on her phone. She'd obviously continued her research, and she had been interacting with people in this diner, possibly elsewhere.

Charlie opened the last text message, which was from Martha.

_The boys are here, thank God. You'll never believe where they found themselves. Where are you, Charlie? Answer me, please!_

Sitting forward to lean on the table, Charlie dialed Martha's number immediately. Her laptop pinged with a new message. She glanced up to see it was from JJTickster.

**JJTrickster: **_Are you alright, Charlie? You've gone quiet in the last fifteen minutes._

Charlie readjusted her phone so she could quickly type back while it rang.

**Researchgal27: **_I'm fine. Something just cropped up. I may have to go soon, but I'll talk to you again. Thanks._

The phone was picked up on the second ring. "Jesus H. Christ, Charlie, you better have a damn good explanation for this!"

Charlie winced at the volume. "I wish I did," she answered.

"What the hell does that mean?"

Charlie could hear Beth in the background asking if it was really her cousin. The laptop pinged again.

**JJTrickster:** _No problem, girl. Talk to you again soon!_

**AngelLover58: **_That's not a problem. Keep in touch, and remember what we discussed._

Charlie frowned, wondering what the woman was talking about. She'd have to read over the conversation later.

**Researchgal27:** _I will. Thank you._

They both signed off. Charlie did as well, in case they came back, but she highlighted the entire text to copy it into a document to save - only to find one already open. It had records of conversations she'd had with both women from the last week and a half. She added the text and closed the computer.

"Charlie?"

"I'm here, Martha."

"What's goin' on? Hang on, I'll put you on speaker. We're all here at Bobby's."

There was a muffled sound like Martha had accidentally rubbed the phone on her clothes, and then the sound of the others came in, tinny and distant. "Are you alright, girl?"

"I'm fine, Bobby."

"Where are you?" Beth asked, her voice closer than Bobby's.

"Oklahoma."

"What?" Dean asked incredulously. "How the fuck - ow!"

"Language, Dean!"

"Sorry, Martha. Jesus."

"How did you get there?" Sam.

"I have no idea. I just sort of became aware, I suppose, about twenty minutes ago." Charlie sighed, gathering up the books and notepad. She packed the notepad into a bag she assumed was hers by the window, and glanced at the inside cover of the books.

_Property of Kieran Hennessy._

_What? Oh. Right._ Charlie remembered she had wanted to do research on the Angel-slash-Human, Micah, and had called Kieran to send her anything he had on him and the name the non-Angel had given her; Atropos. Kieran had posted them out to her at the hospital a few days before Dean was discharged.

Flipping the covers closed, she packed them away as well, adding her laptop in last.

"You became aware?"

Charlie scoffed. "Yeah, I don't know what that means either, Martha. I think something got to me and messed with my head."

"It could have been Zachariah," Sam said, and she didn't think he was talking to her.

Dean confirmed it by responding, "You think so? He mojo'd us into thinkin' we were normal just so we'd be on his side. Maybe he got rid of Charlie for a reason?"

"But what could she have done?"

That was a good question. Charlie stood, adjusting her phone again to loop the strap of her bag over her shoulder. Striding to the till, she slipped her wallet out of her back pocket and paid her bill. She was turning and stuffing it back in, when she paused, removing the wallet again. She frowned at it. She rarely put her wallet in her back pocket.

Putting it back in her bag instead, Charlie walked to the exit and shoved open the door of the diner. "Who's Zachariah, and what's been going on?"

* * *

_**Date: March 29th, 2009.**_

_**Location: Bobby's house.**_

Charlie closed Bobby's door carefully, leaning against the wood with a shaky sigh. The white knuckled grip she had on her bag relaxed a fraction when she heard the sounds of familiar voices further in. After a few minutes of deep breaths to calm down, Charlie pushed herself off the door and followed the voices to the library.

"Charlie!" Beth cried, startling the others. The younger woman practically ran over to hug her cousin. Charlie patted her awkwardly on the shoulder, bag filled with her books and the laptop crushed between them. The lumps pressed painfully on her hip and stomach. Beth stepped back, the relieved smile on her face dropping at Charlie's expression. "What's wrong?"

"You look like you seen a Ghost," Bobby said, only to get exasperated looks from the others.

"Hilarious, Bobby," Dean said, rolling his eyes from his position on the couch. Sam was beside him, having stood when Charlie arrived.

"You could say that," Charlie answered simply. "Among other things."

Martha slipped in front of Beth to embrace Charlie quickly. Charlie gratefully sank into the hug for a brief moment, having not seen her aunt in several weeks. When she stepped back, the taller woman lifted the strap of Charlie's bag and set it aside. Nodding her head towards the kitchen, Martha urged Charlie in that direction with a quiet, "Explain."

Away from the boys, Charlie leaned against the sink, rubbing a clammy hand across her tired face. She winced at the tiny bumps the pads of her fingers came across. She obviously hadn't been taking proper care of her skin lately, though she couldn't fathom why.

"What did you see?"

Inhaling, and blinking harshly to wake herself up a bit more from the multiple bus rides to Bobby's, Charlie looked over at her aunt. The woman looked tired, the dark skin under her eyes wrinkled and heavy. Her gray-blonde hair, normally neatened by a braid or bun, was loose and wispy. The cardigan, too large for her slender frame, was wrinkled at the sleeves and hem. "I saw everything." Martha nodded for her to continue, light blue eyes bright with concern. "People's auras, their intentions, Monsters, Orbs… Three Ghosts alone on first leg of the journey here. Two, I suspect, from a car accident at an intersection we passed. Another on the first bus beside an elderly man. His wife. She got off when he departed at a stop, but she saw me when I got on. Knew I could see her. She tried to talk to me, to ask me to tell things to her husband but there was too many people around and she was getting angsty."

Martha stepped forward, but Charlie waved her off gently. Her aunt frowned. "Don't feel guilty, girl. It couldn't be helped." She sighed. "What else did you see?"

"Too much," Charlie whispered, flicking her gaze over to the library to see that Bobby had the others occupied in conversation, but Dean was throwing her suspicious looks. She shifted to allow Martha to block the view of her face in case Dean got anything from reading her lips. "Reapers. Ghouls. Vampires. Skinwalkers. Too many to do anything about, and I didn't have anything with me to - "

"What?"

Folding her arms tightly, Charlie frowned. "I had nothing. No knives, no holy water, no gun - "

"Jesus Christ, Charlie!"

Dropping her arms, Charlie gritted her teeth and ground out, "I don't know why I didn't have anything. That's why I'm here. Something's fucked with my head. Unblocked everything I spent so long locking away. None of my barriers held, Martha. I'm lucky I kept my head down, or I'd be toast. They didn't know I could see them. I just got on bus after bus."

"Shit."

"My sentiments exactly."

"Everything alright?" came Bobby's voice behind Martha. The older woman turned and waved him off.

"Everything's fine." She turned back to Charlie, rubbing her hands down her face. "Come on. Let's have a chat with the others and catch you up. There's been a lot of weird shit goin' on."

_No kidding_, Charlie thought, following Martha into the library. Dean still looked suspicious, arms folded and brow heavy while he watched her from his place at Bobby's desk. Charlie sighed, shoving her hands in her back pockets to proffer a more open body language. She stepped around Sam, keeping a safe distance when the blackness curled around his neck to slither down his hands when he reached out to grasp her shoulder. He flinched when she dropped her shoulder to avoid his touch. She grimaced contritely. "Look it's not…" She blew out a rough sigh. "I can't really explain myself right now. It's not a personal thing, per se, just… I…" God, she was fucking this up. How did she explain that the shit he'd been dealing with had a physical manifestation that wanted to touch her for some reason without letting on about her ability? She couldn't. Seeing his confused, but wary resignation, she finished, looking at both of them, "Look. I have some personal shit to be dealing with that you don't need. Please, I'll tell you when I'm ready, but this has got nothing to do with either of you. It's my problem, alright? And until I can deal with it, I'd rather keep it to myself."

The brothers looked at each other, evaluating themselves, before looking at her. Sam backed away several steps and nodded with an accepting smile. "Sure. I understand. You can tell us when you're ready."

Charlie thanked him, and looked at Dean for his reaction. He pursed his lips, before dropping his arms to his side. Leaning more heavily on the side of the desk, he nodded. "Yeah. That's fine. When you're ready."

Charlie smiled, some of the weight leaving her aching shoulders. "Good. Thank you. Now, how about we talk about what's been going on."

* * *

Even on the laptops lowest brightness setting, the screen still shone harshly in Bobby's darkened kitchen.

_**Atropos **__or __**Aisa**_ _(Greek: Άτροπος "without turn"), in Greek mythology, was one of the three Moirae, goddesses of fate and destiny. Her Roman equivalent was Morta._

_Atropos or Aisa was the oldest of the Three Fates, and known as the "inflexible" or "inevitable". It was Atropos who chose the mechanism of death and ended the life of each mortal by cutting their thread with her "abhorred shears." She worked along with her two sisters, Clotho, who spun the thread, and Lachesis, who measured the length. Her origin, along with the two other Fates, is uncertain, although some called them the daughters of the night. It is clear, however, that at a certain period they ceased to be only concerned with death and also became those powers who decided what would happen to individuals. The Moirae were usually described as cold, remorseless and unfeeling, and depicted as old crones or hags._

Charlie sighed, rubbing the pads of her fingers over her bloodshot, tired eyes. Most everyone was asleep at three in the morning, but Charlie had spent hours going over the conversations and research she had apparently been doing while her brain was on automatic. Anything to get her mind off the conversation she had earlier with the boys and Martha.

Castiel's superior, Zachariah, had plucked Dean and Sam from the hospital in order to teach them a lesson about not being able to change their Destiny as part of the Apocalypse. Upon reflection, Charlie and the others couldn't fathom a reason why Zachariah would send Charlie away, unless he hadn't sent her away at all. Which obviously brought the on the question of who _had _sent her away, and why. Having nothing else to go on, they had to leave it as a mystery, but Charlie couldn't let it settle that way. It kept her awake for hours before she just gave up sleeping and had relocated to the kitchen with her computer.

The other conversation with Martha was even more confusing and alarming. Someone had been calling Martha and her family to chase down cases in various parts of the country for the past few months. It was fine at first. It wasn't unusual for the Crivens' to be called for Hunting jobs, since they were one of the few families who still hunted together.

It only started to seem peculiar when Martha realized that the cases were as far away from Charlie as possible, should she need her. No matter where Charlie was in the country, Martha and the rest of the Criven's, bar Beth, were too far should Charlie run into any trouble. That wasn't strange at first either, coincidences could happen after all, but when Charlie began to move around more with the boys, the calls would come in at bizarre times of the day and suddenly be 'emergencies'.

Twice, Martha came home to a strange feeling that someone had been in the house. Nothing was moved, nothing was found, and nothing untoward happened to anyone in the family, but her aunt couldn't seem to shake the feeling of someone messing with her.

Shaking her head, Charlie clicked away from the information on Atropos to sweep the mouse across the document where she'd saved her conversations with JJ and Ava. Most were innocuous greetings and information on supposed sights of Angels in various areas, but the odd snippet of text contained something interesting. Ava, still mysterious and strange to Charlie, provided more information on the physical abilities and weakness of Angels, including; healing, sedation (which hadn't worked on Charlie for some reason she'd still yet to find), telepathy (so Castiel _could_ read minds), voice mimicry, time travel, invisibility (which didn't seem to work on her either), smiting, and supernatural perception… _Supernatural perception?_ Moving away from the text, Charlie did a quick search online.

_Astral perception, or Supernatural perception is the ability to perceive what would normally be invisible to humans_ _such as ghosts_ _and reapers. Certain monsters_ _are normally invisible to humans unless they wish to be seen. Some magical sigils are also invisible to humans. Angels can see the true faces of demons_ _in human vessels and demons can tell if a human is possessed by an angel (although, it might be possible for them to disguise themselves to avoid detection). Other supernatural beings like deities_ _and fairies_ _possess astral perception as well._

_It is possible for humans to gain the ability to see fairies, and thus a limited form of astral perception, by going to Avalon._

Charlie frowned, leaning back against the hard press of the chair. Well, she'd never been to Avalon, but did she have supernatural perception? It sounded like it, but she wasn't limited in what she could see, unless of course she counted the choice to to block it out. Kieran had theorized that she was a descendant of a First. _Now I could be just someone with supernatural perception. Angels have it, but I'm not an Angel. I couldn't be. Cas would have seen it. They would have known. _Maybe she was like one of those who could perceive an Angel's true form, only a little more abnormal. Or perhaps she _was_ a descendant, and this ability was only a confirming factor.

Charlie sighed in frustration. _Why is there never just one fucking category to fit into?_ Every time she found something that could be the answer, she fell just short of the defining description.

Charlie swiped the mouse back to the text of conversation more violently than she intended, knocking a book askew from the table. It fell to the floor with a muffled thump. She made herself stay very still, ears pricked for any disturbance she may have caused. There was no telltale creaking on the floor above so Beth, Martha, and Bobby were still asleep. There was no sound from the library were Sam and Dean had crashed for the night, either.

With a sigh, Charlie closed the laptop, giving herself time to allow her eyes to adjust before moving toward the boys. Sitting on the armchair, she crossed her legs in the lotus position and placed her arms loose and relaxed across them, closing her eyes. She spent a few minutes easing into a light meditation in an effort to re-establish and strengthen her barriers against her - she rolled her eyes - supernatural perception.

Her mind was well versed in finding the sections that allowed her to see Others. Long hours of practise had made it so she could sort and put up barriers in short amounts of time. As the walls began to slide into place neatly, she felt herself calming, slipping deeper into the meditation.

_Breathe in, and breathe out._

A distracted thought wormed its way into her mind: the memory of the motel she and Beth had stayed at after separating from Sam and Dean. The laptop was open in front of her, and the television was on low, displaying an old black and white movie. A bottle of water she had bought at the last gas station was in her hand. Taking a sip, memory-Charlie blinked harshly when the room tilted. The bottle slipped from her grasp, bouncing off the edge of the table. Down it went to spill over the suspiciously stained carpet. A strange sort of feeling tunneled her vision, and then she was standing and packing a bag with her laptop and books, but no weapons. They'd been left on Beth's bed, in need of cleaning after their run in with the small Vampire nest the day before. Wallet snatched off the table and stuffed in her back pocket, Charlie left the room.

Once outside, her body moved without her permission towards the nearest bus stop. A passing glance in a window showed her reflection. She looked perfectly normal, even though she knew herself that she felt a little dazed. Almost like an out of body experience.

The image changed and continued to transition smoothly like a slow blink. She drifted from one mode of transport to another, each echo of memory different than the last. A bus. A taxi. Another bus. All without context or feeling of direction. Mixed in with traveling were her bland accommodations. Bare essential motels if she wasn't sleeping on the bus. Her body continued until it nearly collapsed.

It wasn't until she saw a sign indicating that she was entering Nevada that something in her mind snapped a bit, stuttering to catch up with what was happening. The corridor of the bus tilted sharply, swirling enough to make her ill. Something screamed that this was wrong. So very wrong.

Fade out and back in, and she was at a bus terminal. The bus she was heading towards was going back in the opposite direction. Maybe she went on autopilot to go home. Again, the slideshow of various transport, until she reached Wichita, where her mind stuttered again. Unable to cope with the sudden pull from both directions, Charlie watched her memory self get off the bus and just stand there for a few hours, staring into nothing. She was lucky she hadn't been robbed. _Or worse, _she thought.

Then, suddenly, her memory-self was walking into the diner in Oklahoma, ordering a coffee and settling at a table. There, the days blended to her researching, chatting with JJ and Ava, and glancing at her phone, only to ignore the missed calls and texts.

What struck her was the fact that in no way did this feel normal, yet it was an echo of what an average day might be for any general person of the world. She ordered the same meals every day, drank coffee, and interacted with patrons and the staff normally. Nearly two weeks of traveling on a weird compulsion, and back to 'normal' for a week or so in a diner in Oklahoma.

The conversations drifted across her mind now. Apart from the information Ava gave her on Angels, in particular a brief mention of Micah being the Angel of the Divine Plan, Charlie didn't actually ask or tell them much at all. They asked several questions, including what she had been up to with the boys, how far into her research she was, had she heard anything else about her journey for finding out who she was, etc. But she didn't remember telling them that. Scrolling through her mind for the memory of what she _had_ told them, she found that she had simply expressed her need to find a part of herself she'd been missing for years. Nothing specific, but it created unease in Charlie's gut. _Why did I even tell them that?_

At that, Charlie opened her eyes, only to blink at the sunshine streaming through the window of Bobby's library. _I've been meditating for longer than I thought._ Stiff, exhausted, and beyond a little freaked out, Charlie rose to stretch and join the others for breakfast. They'd, thankfully, left her alone to finish, but now all she wanted to do was eat and not think for a while.

* * *

_**Date: April, 2009.**_

_**Location: Unknown.**_

Charlie couldn't breathe, she was laughing so hard.

"This is serious, Charlie!" Dean said shortly, waving a copy of a Supernatural book at her from his seat on the motel bed.

"I know, I'm sorry!" she howled, gasping the words out. It didn't help that he was holding up the copy with 'Sam' shirtless with long windswept hair, and 'Dean' posing broodingly, wearing a wife-beater and carrying what looked like a sack full of salt over his shoulder, on the cover.

"I know it's serious, guys, but it's funny too," Beth said placatingly.

Sam quietly went back to his computer to continue reading what he'd found, and Dean rolled his eyes until Charlie calmed down several minutes later.

"Oh, God, that was good," she chuckled, wiping her eyes. She sat up, smiling. "I'll stop now, I swear. Just had to get it out of my system."

Her calm lasted until Dean read about slash fans. The boys left her and Beth behind to find Carver Edlund on their own when they couldn't get a coherent word out of her for five minutes straight.

It wasn't so funny half an hour later. Beth had opted to skim over the boys story on the internet using Sam's laptop, and it was devastatingly tragic. Although they hadn't lived through it, or actually read the books in detail, Charlie and Beth found that the fans had broken down the gist of the boys story so far, and it was horrifying. They'd lost so much, even from the very beginning.

Charlie knew they had been through a lot during their 'childhood' with John Winchester (Martha had shared her opinion on that man), but to see it laid out in front of her…

Looking at the cover she had found amusing earlier, Charlie tossed it aside, unable to stomach it.

Her phone buzzed, then chimed, in her pocket. She removed it to find a message from Dean.

_Found carver edlund aka chuck shurley checking it out now keep you posted - D_

"They found the guy."

"Already?"

"Seems like it. His real name is Chuck Shurley."

"I'll see if I can find anything."

* * *

_This shit is so weird. guy thinks hes a god. we think psychic but what hes writin is scary accurate. We're in a laundromat readin about bein in a laundromat. seriously! - D_

_That is weird. - C_

_Whats weirder and makes no sense is that he doesnt have me txtin u right now. - D_

_What? - C_

_Yeah its the 1 wrong thing that's here. says I'm txtin beth, not u. dunno y. - D_

_Maybe he's doing it for plot, or something? Or maybe he doesn't like my character. - C_

_That would be funny if u were mentioned at all but youre not. youre not even here as background or a footnote. nothin. - D_

_That's… weird. - C_

_Yeah i'll check it out keep you posted. - D_

_Ok. - C_

* * *

They got a call later in the day. The boys explained what they'd discussed with Chuck - what the plot was supposed to be, the bridge being out - and now they had to change motels on the off chance they'd be able to take a different path to what the book would say.

Charlie thought they were getting a little ridiculous, but went along anyway, if only to share the price of the room with Beth. She'd have to find another means of upping her funds again if this kind of drama was to continue.

Dean asked them to keep an eye on Sam and to help Lilith-proof their room as well.

* * *

Charlie came out of the bathroom to find Beth on the end of one of the beds, fiddling nervously with her phone. When she finished drying her hands, Charlie folded the towel in half and draped it over the back of a chair. "What's wrong?"

Beth curled a stray lock of hair around her ear, flicking her gaze up to her cousin. "You're not in the books," she blurted.

Charlie snorted. "What? What are you talking about?"

"The books. Carver - uh, Chuck's - books. You're not in them."

"Ok. Maybe he doesn't like me or something."

Beth looked away to the other bed, where an assortment of Chuck's writings were piled at the end. Beth had gotten them from Sam earlier. "Maybe. But… well, I'm in them."

Charlie raised her eyebrows expectantly. "And?"

Her cousin stopped pawing her phone, releasing a blustering sigh. "I'm not just in them, Charlie. I'm in your place."

Charlie frowned. "What does that mean?"

"I don't know, exactly, but everything that you've done with the boys, Chuck has written me in instead. Even stuff I haven't actually done, that I know for definite, _you_ have."

Charlie wasn't sure what to say to that. She didn't have much of an opportunity to gather her thoughts as her phone took that moment to ring out shrilly in the otherwise quiet room. Answering it, she got an abrupt, "Meet me at Chuck's, now," from Dean before the line cut off.

Well, shit. Flipping the phone shut, Charlie stuffed it in her pocket and grabbed her Glock .22 from her bag, shoving it in the waistband of her jeans. "Stay with Sam. I'll be back as soon as I can. Dean wants me for something."

"I - alright. Be careful!"

Charlie slammed the door shut and began to jog in the direction of the guy's house. Thankfully, it wasn't too far from the motel.

* * *

She burst through the door, gun up and steady, breath uneven but calming from her last effort sprint when she spotted the Impala outside. "Dean?" she called.

"In here!"

Unfamiliar with Chuck's house as she was, Charlie found him easily enough just through an archway near the front entrance. She froze and blinked at the sight of Castiel, Dean, and the man that must be Chuck, all standing around with no apparent danger. "What the hell is going on?"

"Is that a gun? Jesus Christ."

"Shut the hell up, Chuck," Dean snapped. He turned to Charlie. "Put the gun away."

She did so, but scowled. "What the fuck are you doing calling me sounding urgent and not actually having a urgent problem?"

"Now's not the time, Charlie."

"Now's not the - are you serious? When, exactly, is it convenient then? You're the one who called _me_."

"Uh, sorry, but who are you?"

Charlie pressed her lips together to stop the beginnings of her tirade, glancing at the nervous, disheveled looking man by the wall. He was clutching a bottle of alcohol and a glass, but his look of confusion added to her ire. "I'm Charlie. The one you don't seem to like much in your books, pal."

There was a beat of silence, before, "I'm sorry, I've no idea what you're talking about."

"Charlie. Charlie Crivens?" Dean said, watching Chuck irritably.

Chuck glanced back and forth between them, shaking his head. "I know a Beth Crivens, who's been travelling with you off and on for months."

"What?"

"What?"

"Um."

"Ok, I think we all need to calm down here," Dean said eventually, looking exasperatingly at an unhelpful Castiel. "Let's back up a bit. How can this guy be a Prophet? C'mon, he's practically a Penthouse forum writer."

Charlie watched Chuck turn away to cross the room. "A Prophet?"

"He is a Prophet of the Lord," Castiel supplied, nodding his head in greeting to her.

She could only stare at him blankly. "A Prophet."

"Yes."

Dean began to speak again, Castiel and Chuck joining the strange conversation, but Charlie's mind was elsewhere. A few words of their conversation crept in. The Word of God. Gospel. Chuck being a mouthpiece.

Chuck was a Prophet of the Lord, writing down the tale of the brothers Winchester and everyone they interacted with…

Except her.

Swallowing against a dry throat, Charlie turned to stare at Chuck in his ratty chair, clutching a bottle and glass, looking ready to disappear at a moments notice. "You've never heard of Charlie Crivens?"

Dean sighed. "Look, Charlie, I know this could be considered an identity thing, but not right now, ok?"

"Answer me," she said firmly, not taking her eyes off Chuck.

He shook his head. "I'm sorry. No. Only Beth."

"Show me."

"Charlie - "

"Shut up, Dean. Show me. Now."

Chuck got up and fumbled with some piles of paper, finally bringing out a ream about one inch thick. "This isn't everything, but it has a lot of Beth from when Dean came back from Hell and met Castiel."

Grabbing the ream from his hands none-too gently, she flipped past the irrelevant bits until she got to the moment she'd met Castiel with Dean and Bobby - only it wasn't her, it was Beth. It was Beth in her place, and instead of Beth being awake but immobile, she was unconscious like Bobby. Every scene that Charlie was supposed to be in, it was Beth in her place. Charlie's backstory was nowhere to be found, instead replaced by Martha's loving family, and Beth having grown up knowing the boys from the occasional visit when they passed through Beth's town.

"Charlie, what's wrong?"

The lines began to blur together, and her chest felt tight. "What is this?" she rasped, straining against what she was feeling. She looked back up to the others, gesturing to the draft with shaking hands. The pages fluttered. "_What is this?_"

"What's going on?" Dean said, finally understanding that Charlie was having some sort of weird moment of cold fear. "Cas."

Castiel, frowning at her, stepped forward to take the pages gently from her shaking grasp. Scanning it quickly, his frown became more severe. "I… I don't understand. This is not how it happened."

Dean snatched it from him and read through it himself. "What the hell?"

Charlie turned to Chuck, who was looking at them all helplessly. She shook her head slowly. "You don't know me, do you?"

He shrugged, opening his mouth but all that came out was, "Excuse me," and he left, slipping by to creep up the stairs like a wounded, distrustful rabbit.

Charlie looked to Cas. "What does that mean? When a Prophet doesn't see you, and rewrites your life as someone else's?"

His strange gaze flickered silently, finally fading to a dull glow, barely there when he couldn't answer her. "I don't know."

* * *

"_I know what you are_… _you have a choice. You can become part of it, or you can walk away. You can see it out until the end, or," he shrugged, "jump right in and do whatever you think is right."_

Micah.

The fucking Angel of the Divine Plan.

He'd said she could become part of it. _Part of what? Part of the plan? Does that mean I'm not _in _the plan? '_...see it out until the end…' _What end?_ _The end of the Apocalypse?_ Distantly, Charlie could hear the roar of the Impala, AC/DC crooning low from the speakers, the silence from the others. Micah had said he was no longer part of it. _The fucking Angel of the Divine Plan jumped ship on the Divine Plan. _

It was hard to breathe. Hard to think. She had hoped that the rumbling of the Impala, the damp night outside as they drove away from the motel, and the almost-death with Lilith would help her get herself under control, give her a clear head to sort this shit out. It wasn't helping. She didn't have enough to go on. No assurances than a supposed Angel telling her his and Atropos' job was obsolete -

_Well, shit. Does that mean what I think it means? _This could mean that, at some point, there was no longer a plan. _How the hell am I supposed to find that out, and what the hell am I supposed to do about it?_

"..._jump right in and do whatever you think is right."_

Closing her eyes, Charlie gritted her teeth. She was going in circles with no way to find a straight path out. _What does that mean?_

She tipped her head back with a particularly violent thump against the leather. _Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck it, fucking assholes fuckheads!_

She sighed, running her hands through her hair, closing her eyes against the occupants of the car. If she didn't look at them, it might help her concentrate as if she was alone and meditating. The Angel of the Divine Plan, and one of the Goddesses of Fate would become obsolete some time in the future. She was an abnormality that no one could see or define. She could, according to an Angel, jump in and out of a supposed 'plan' at will. Uriel and Castiel had warned her away from finding out about Angels, but she still wondered why. Was it to do with what Micah said? She wondered. _Or is it something else? _She wasn't sure, so she filed that away for later. Moving on. A Prophet of the Lord didn't know who she was, _but_, and a very big "but," if she thought about it just right, he saw something about her, even if it was to write Beth in her place. At least there was a place where she should have been. She had no idea why that was important - because fuck-you-very-much God decided that He was a complicated fucker that seemed to like riddles upon riddles in a long ass story that may or may not be changed - but it was something to cling on to.

Charlie released a huff. Surely the fact that her path was written differently allowed _some_ change to occur. Maybe their cause wasn't as lost as they'd thought.

Maybe it was all a load of bullshit, and they were fucked either way.

* * *

_A/N: There's a lot going on in my life right now so I am late in posting this and my other fic - wahh. Apologies for mistakes I miss. I owe so much to my beta! I received a wonderful comment/review today over on Ao3, and I must say it spurred me on to release this next portion. I'm so glad everyone is enjoying it, and thank you for your support! _

_ZeB xx_


	11. See

"_You get used to someone — start to like them, even — and they leave. In the end, everyone leaves." _

― _Rachel Ward_

**11\. See**

_**Date: April 22nd, 2009.**_

_**Location: Windom, Minnesota.**_

There were times when Charlie wondered if there was a point to all their efforts. In the vastness of the universe, what was one person against the tide (or, in Sam and Dean's case, two)? Smoke from Adam's pyre wafted upwards towards the stars, small pinpricks of light lost in the glow of flaming ash that was carried with it. They'd not only lost a brother, they had lost a connection to their father, their family. They had lost him before they knew him, a Ghoul having taken his place long before they received the call on John's phone.

"It's not your fault, Charlie," Beth said softly, the back seat of the Impala creaking under her shifting weight when she tried to find a more comfortable spot. They'd been sitting here a while, remaining behind in the car out of respect. Charlie couldn't face them in her failure, but Sam and Dean didn't seem to mind their choice.

Charlie didn't acknowledge Beth for a few moments, unable to take her gaze away from the dark figures by the fire. "I should have seen him for what he was."

"Your barriers were shot to hell. When you remade them, you blocked out a lot of stuff. You couldn't have known this would happen. Even the boys didn't, and they tested him. You saw it yourself."

"I should have known," she repeated. "I was born with this for a reason, and I ignore it on a regular basis."

Beth sighed. "Fine. You wanna be pedantic? How 'bout you _could _have known, but you didn't. You spent your life being hunted by things that knew you could see them, so you did what any person would have done; you took precautions to survive. If you'd known, and pointed it out to the boys, they may not have had _any_ moments with their brother."

Charlie turned her head towards her cousin with a growl. "He wasn't their brother."

"No," Beth agreed, running a hand through her hair. She sighed again. "But he had his memory. He pretended so he could take his revenge, but it was still a part of that kid. And they got to see that, and they found out that they had another member of their family, even if it wasn't actually him to begin with." She gestured a hand at the window, out towards Sam and Dean, alone in the shadows before the heat of Adam's pyre. "If you had told them, they wouldn't have found his body to burn and mourn out there, because they would have killed him outright."

Charlie regarded her cousin quietly, the girl's adamant but sympathetic expression never fading under Charlie's scrutiny. Finally, she turned back to watch the boys make their way up to them, where Dean had parked the Impala by the side of an empty road. The brothers had opted to hold the funeral in the early hours of the morning.

"That could have been you down there," Beth said, into the quiet. "I would have been standing at a pyre, watching you burn."

A horrible tightness seized Charlie's chest. She swallowed against the bile rising in the back of her throat. Instead, she reached out a hand for Beth. The younger woman took it, and they sat in silence, which remained after the boys joined them. Dean turned the key, the engine roaring to life to take them away from the last remnants of John Winchester.

* * *

_**Date: May 3rd, 2009.**_

_**Location: An abandoned warehouse.**_

Beth whistled lowly. "Holy shit."

"Looks like a bomb hit the place."

"Uh, you sure this is it?" Beth asked, wincing when a set of wires nearby sparked violently.

"Yeah," Dean said absently. "Cas said to meet him here."

Charlie, the first to have entered the building, swivelled her flashlight to look around the wreck of the warehouse. The light was pointless; the place was lit up like Nanna Crivens' house on Christmas. Remnants of celestial energy drifted and coiled in the air like dust in the sun, fading slowly. An overall blast pattern was obvious and centred around something near the back of the large room. She couldn't see it clearly, though. There were bits of metal and rubble strewn across any definable path.

"Check it out," Dean said, nodding his head toward a large column to the left of where they entered, near a set of stairs. A large red symbol adorned the brick, overshot with a circlet of the same celestial energy near the center. It was surrounded by a starburst of soot. A Banishing Sigil.

Ignoring the discussion about what could have happened, Charlie wandered towards the central energy source, calling out for Castiel.

It was Dean who found the Angel. Charlie stopped cold at the sight of him. There, lying prone on a pile of debris, was Castiel, unconscious. Only to Charlie, it wasn't the Angel. There was no evidence of his presence at all, save for a fading swirl of blue-white mist clinging to his skin. There were no wings pressed underneath his back, no shield of energy, no ethereal identity that she'd come to know and understand. This wasn't Castiel.

This was his vessel.

The man woke abruptly at Dean's insistence, but he seemed confused and frightened. "No. No, no, no," he said anxiously, patting himself, before standing to take in all the damage around him.

"Cas," Dean intoned firmly.

"No, not Castiel. It's me."

"Oh Jesus," Beth whispered, hitting Charlie on the arm with the back of her hand as if to clue her in. "Is that - "

"Yeah," Charlie answered, not taking her eyes of the man. She had never met the vessel, and she was wary of his reaction. His brow creased in concern and confusion, looking between them all and what was left of the warehouse.

"Who's me?" Dean said gruffly.

"What's going on?"

"Me. Jimmy." The man deflated a bit. "My name's Jimmy."

"Where the hell is Castiel?"

Jimmy shook his head. "He's gone."

Dean shared a look with Sam, but Beth rolled her eyes. She gestured with her flashlight, narrowly avoiding shining it in the man's eyes. "That's Castiel's vessel. Cas must have been banished back to Heaven."

"So how do we get him back?" Dean asked with a frown.

Charlie gave him a slow, incredulous look. "Jesus Christ, Mr. Fucking Sensitivity." She turned away towards Jimmy with a frown. "I don't know how a vessel and Angel work entirely, so I don't know if you know me, but my name is Charlie. This is Dean, Sam, and my cousin, Beth. Now, I don't know about dickwad over here," She gestured to a scowling Dean, "but I don't really want to be in this shithole longer than I have to. Looks ready to come down, and Angels, the bad ones who managed to do this, might come back, so leaving is probably a good idea." She gave him a moment to let it sink in. "You injured?"

He blinked, glancing down and lifting a flap of his coat to inspect himself. "Uh… I don't think so. A little sore, but nothing serious."

"Good." She tilted her head in the direction they had come from. "Exit's this way. We'll get some food, rest, and we'll talk about what's happened somewhere safer."

At the prospect of food, Jimmy-the-vessel smiled and followed her without question. Charlie ignored the others, including an incensed (but chastised) Dean, and shook Jimmy's sudden proffered hand hesitantly. It wasn't as hot as Castiel's, but it was the same skin, slightly rough but dry. His grip was strong and confident. His smile was full and unhindered by strange Angelic personality. Charlie was caught off guard by it. It was devastatingly attractive, and something she'd never thought about because Cas had never truly smiled. Charlie had to force the lingering attraction she felt deep, deep down because this man wasn't Castiel. This man was unknown, and deserved a better set of thoughts than the ones she was having about his physical body.

"Jimmy Novak. And you're wrong about not knowing you. You're prominent enough in the bits and pieces of memory Castiel has left me with. Crivens, right?"

Stunned, and a little flustered at the sudden unexpected attention, Charlie finished shaking his hand and led him out. "Yeah. That's me. Glad you have something anyway." She clicked off her flashlight when they arrived outside. "It would be a bit of a disaster if we had to start from scratch."

Her, Beth, and Jimmy sat in the back of the Impala (Beth and Charlie travelling with the boys for convenience for a time) on the way to the nearest drive through for food, and then to the motel. Jimmy waited patiently until they were in the room before striding to the table to sit and consume the piles of junk food they'd bought. His look of bliss at the first bite of a burger made Charlie smirk, but Charlie squashed her feelings immediately. Her own emotional rollercoaster was a bit unstable lately, ever since the troubling idea of not being seen by a Prophet of the Lord. Plus, she still had no idea what had happened to her during nearly a month of her life. It had been a couple of weeks since then, and Charlie was no closer to understanding what was going on.

Beth had finished designing her tattoos. Unfortunately, until they could settle and apply them properly, her cousin had taken on the responsibility of researching the Seals. Charlie, meanwhile, tried to track down someone who could help find lost souls without letting on about what, exactly, they were looking for. Three had been fakes looking for money she really didn't have, and two had been stumped by her predicament. The last one had shied away from her altogether, claiming her to be a bad omen signifying the End of Days. Charlie privately thought the old woman was a crackpot.

"You mind slowing down? You're giving me angina," Dean said, watching Jimmy devour the burger.

"I'm hungry," he mumbled, shrugging and chasing the bite down with a sip of soda.

"When was the last time you ate?"

He shrugged again, mouth full. Charlie, leaning against the wall by the door, was disturbed by the lack of wings with the movement. "I dunno. Months."

They all continued to watch him start another burger, followed by a third set of fries. Dean and Sam began to ask him questions about what he remembered. Turns out, not that much. Charlie wasn't surprised. He said being possessed by an Angel was like being chained to a comet. Looking at him now, his entire form screamed 'ordinary', like a light being turned off and the fire doused to leave everyone in a cold room. She had never met a vessel outside of Anna, and even then, despite once being Castiel's superior, the Angel didn't exude the same raw power that he had.

"So what do you know?"

Charlie listened quietly when Jimmy began to talk about who he was. She swallowed and looked down when he mentioned his family. The thought had never occurred to her. All this time interacting with Cas, and she had never once thought about his vessel apart from the initial meeting about seven months ago in that warehouse.

_God_, she thought. _Has it really been that long?_

"I'm goin' out for some air," Beth announced after a minute of silence. She snagged her jacket off a bed, and strode out.

"I think we'll head out for a bit too," Dean said, nodding at Sam. They rose together.

When the door closed behind them, Jimmy turned to her. "Are they always that subtle?" Charlie huffed out a laugh, pushing off the wall to take Sam's seat. He tore open another bag, turning it around to display the contents. Grabbing a fry, he gestured with it. "Help yourself. I think I'm starting to feel full, finally."

They ate in comfortable silence for a while. Charlie wasn't really hungry, but the mechanics of chewing and swallowing were a good distraction. It wasn't until he pulled apart a burger to share with her that he spoke. "He's concerned, you know?"

Charlie paused mid bite, raising an eyebrow. "Hm?"

"Castiel." Jimmy picked at the fluff of the bun absently. He frowned in concentration. "I don't remember much overall, like I said, but when I look at you, all I feel is how he felt, I think. Does that make sense?"

She swallowed, absently working a bit of lettuce from a tooth with her tongue. "Not really, but I'm beginning to worry that an Angel was concerned about me."

He hummed, taking a bite to gather the right words. "He doesn't understand what you are," he began, circling the burger in the air.

Charlie looked away at her own food, feeling a sudden nausea settle in her stomach at the sight of the processed meat and melted cheese. "I've been hearing that a lot."

"No, it's not - I don't know how to explain. He doesn't think you're... wrong," he intoned, choosing the words carefully, deliberately, his dark eyes finding her own. "I think he's worried that, if you're something that he can't understand, can't place in this world, then there is something wrong with everything else."

Charlie cleared her throat. No one had ever said that in her entire life. Castiel. The Angel of Thursday, who seemed confused by Human Beings, thought that everything else, except her, was wrong. In the last year alone, that was the most wonderful thing anyone has ever said to her. _How sad is that?_

"No person should be like you, and he doesn't know what to do about it." He sighed and looked back to his burger, putting it aside. "What's happening out there is his priority right now, but you're a constant thought, ready to surface at a moments notice. It's like an echo in my head. I can't quite grasp more than that. I'm sorry."

"It's… fine. Thank you. I… I don't really know what to say."

He opened his mouth, to say what, she wasn't sure, but Sam and Dean came back in with resigned looks on their faces. Whatever their little trip out for air was, they'd obviously come to some ridiculous conclusion that would only cause problems.

Turns out, they'd decided Jimmy wasn't going home.

They were right, to an extent. Just because he was a vessel, didn't mean that Others wouldn't come to pry information out of him. Whatever Castiel was going to tell the Angels was important enough to warrant destroying a warehouse to bring him back, leaving his vessel vulnerable to outside forces. Charlie thought it was lucky they had gotten to him first. Ultimately, he needed to stay safe and close should Cas decide to drop back in.

On the other hand, a little part of Charlie wanted to allow him to go home. There was a huge risk that they would be putting his family in danger, but if they all accompanied him they would have a chance to keep them safe. _How long could we keep them safe from what's out there? _Charlie thought. Who was to say as soon as they left, or when - or _if_ \- Castiel came back for Jimmy, that others wouldn't find his wife and daughter?

When Jimmy had been made, essentially, a prisoner of the motel room, Charlie claimed the bathroom to sit on the edge of the tub and think. Dean, when he came in to brush his teeth before he settled in for the night, told her they were thinking of bringing Jimmy to Bobby's until they could figure something out. Charlie hummed in response, but said nothing more.

When they turned in for the night, Charlie volunteered for night watch with Sam since there were not enough places to bed down. Sam seemed reluctant. Charlie watched him quietly from the corner of the room beside Jimmy's bed. He was a bit jittery, and it was hard to tell with his layers of clothing, but the dark under his skin didn't seem so prominent. When she thought about it further, she realized he hadn't been this normal in weeks.

She kept quiet for about two hours. Jimmy shifted in his 'sleep', his back facing her. She wasn't an idiot. The man was ready to bolt. It was only a matter of time and opportunity. Wondering how it would play out, Charlie began to tip her head back and close her eyes to 'sleep' as well. She guessed about twenty minutes passed before there was another sound of Jimmy turning, and then Sam trying to quietly leave the room. A few minutes later, Charlie slit her eyes open to watch Jimmy slip out the door.

Grabbing her bag, she followed, keeping a safe distance so he wouldn't spot her. He was heading for the nearest bus stop, half mile or so down the main road. She glanced around the parking lot before she left the grounds completely, unable to see Sam anywhere. If his darkness was stronger the next time she saw him, she'd confirm what Beth had said in the warehouse with Alastair about Sam and Demon blood.

It was dark enough that, when Jimmy boarded the bus, he didn't see her jog to the door while he made his way down the aisle for a seat. She dropped change into the box, grabbed her ticket, and wandered down the mostly empty bus to find him with his eyes closed and head against the glass. His trenchcoat was bunched up on his lap.

Charlie stuffed her bag under the seat and flopped beside him without a word. He startled violently, whipping his head around to check for anyone else with her. He was probably expecting Sam and Dean, but they were alone. The cabin lights dimmed, and the bus slowly pulled away from the stop. When a few minutes passed in silence, Jimmy finally found his voice. "You're not going to bring me back?"

Charlie frowned, looking down at her fingers slowly tearing up her ticket. "No."

"Why? I thought you were on their side, keeping me pri - "

"Don't," she warned, but she didn't put much heat into it. "I understand both sides." She twisted her mouth in a grimace. "That's the problem. You don't know what Hunters do. You don't know what your… visitor… has been doing." She looked up to find him watching her warily. "We don't get much opportunity for family. I thought the best thing would be to go with you, to make sure you're safe, and that your family stays safe, but… realistically? I'm a Hunter. I know what's out there. You don't want them after your wife and daughter. This is a huge risk for everyone involved. Do you understand what you're doing here?"

He frowned, then squinted at her. Charlie looked away. Too weird. "Then… why did you come? You could have let me do it alone."

Charlie shook her head. "Did you know when you left, when your body was occupied by Castiel, that you would be away this long?"

He looked away. "No."

"Then that's why. No one should do this alone." She leaned back to fiddle with the shitty heater above them. Her fingers were beginning to get sluggish and cramped. "I don't know what you'll face. I don't know what's waiting for you. Hell, I don't know if we'll even get that far, but I'm here, and I'm coming with you. Even if it's just to give you support along the way."

He grabbed her wrist, pulling her arm away from between them so he could see her face. "But - God you're _freezing!_"

Charlie tried to pull away, uncomfortable that people were noticing this more. Unexpected touching. "Yeah. It's fine."

When he opened his mouth, she sent him a warning look. He sighed, confused. "But why would you do this?"

Charlie sighed quietly, pressing her lips tight before dropping her shoulders resignedly. "It's late," she admonished gently. "Try and get some sleep. I'll keep watch."

"Charlie - "

"I'm trying to be nice here, Jimmy. I've done and seen horrible things in my lifetime that you couldn't even imagine." She shook her head. "I'd never want you to see them anyway. Let me be just be a Human Being escorting you safely to see your family, okay?"

He let go of her wrist, nodding carefully. "Ok. Thank you."

"No problem."

She went back to fiddling with the heater. The damn thing only sputtered out luke warm air. Typical. Jimmy turned away to watch the night outside, and when the road got too dark to see clearly, he sank into his seat. Flaring out his trenchcoat, he settled it over them both without a word. Charlie, hesitant at first, but grateful, curled her hands underneath it.

* * *

He slept for a few hours. By morning, he had donned his trenchcoat and reclaimed his seat after they both used the tiny bathroom at the back of the bus. They were nearly there.

_U ok? - D_

_We're good. Nearly there. I assume you'll be following? - C_

_Yea sammys just puttin his stuff in d trunk. Hes pissed. U gonna tell me what happened last night? - D_

Charlie frowned, thumb hovering over the keypad. Beside her, Jimmy was busy watching the view outside, forehead pressed against the glass. _Sam went out. Jimmy took the opportunity, and I followed. - C_

The response was quick and generally impersonal, and she figured Sam must have joined him. _K. See ya soon. - D_

* * *

_**Location: Pontiac, Illinois - Jimmy Novak's house.**_

The house was beautiful. The pathway was swept clean of snow and leaves. The paint looked fresh. Everything looked neat. For some reason, Charlie wasn't surprised. She didn't know Jimmy Novak very well, and she had never met or heard about his family, but she kind of expected the neatness. A quiet solemnity about it all.

Jimmy hesitated at the gate, his fingers fiddling with the trenchcoat pocket. He glanced at her, mouth open, but nothing emerged. Adjusting the strap of her bag, she gave him a small encouraging nod. "I'll be out here. I'm not going anywhere."

He closed his mouth with a nod. She watched him make his way slowly up the path, pausing to look at his home, and pushing onwards to ascend the stairs. She turned away to sit on the wall when he rang the doorbell. Anything else he did was none of her business, but she would stay. Exhaling to watch her breath cloud around her, Charlie waited.

* * *

They ambushed her in the dark. She should have seen it coming. Literally. She had turned away to get her scarf out of her bag - it was cold enough here for her to feel it beyond cramping fingers - when the woman tackled her off the wall. Charlie's skull cracked on a rock on the landing. Her vision blurred spectacularly fast, but she struck out with a free hand. The blow was too weak. The woman laughed. "Go on ahead. I have this one," she said to her companion. Charlie blinked hard to dispel the dizziness and saw that both parties had the grotesque faces of Demons, twisted and misshapen animals coming and going under the feathered and leathery skin.

"Fuck," Charlie gasped. She sucked in a breath, ready to bellow out Jimmy's name in warning, when the woman clamped a hand over her mouth, pressing her down into the cold snow with all her weight. With her free hand, the Demon grabbed Charlie's arm, and twisted. The grinding of bone was audible, but Charlie's scream was too muffled to be heard.

The vicious smile on the Demon was interrupted by commotion in the house. A swift backhand to the temple disoriented Charlie enough that she couldn't stop the female running towards the house.

It may have been a few seconds, or a few minutes, but when she became aware, she heard the roar of the Impala. Forcing herself up, Charlie choked when pain seared through her right arm. Stumbling towards the house, she glanced back to see Sam, Dean, and Beth. "Inside now! Get inside!" she called sharply. "There's two of them. Hurry!"

They shot past her. Charlie collapsed to one knee, unable to continue. Curling her arm to her stomach, she focused on breathing evenly. Spitting out a clot of blood onto the pale snow, she rubbed her sleeve across her eyes to focus. Jimmy came out with a young girl, Dean behind him. Dean turned back into the house once they were clear. Beth sprinted out soon after, leaping down the steps, thankfully unhurt.

Her cousin stopped beside her with a gasp. "Shit. Charlie!" Beth tried to get her up, but was unable to take her full weight. The girl hesitated, but stepped forward to help, only Charlie waved the kid away. She had probably just seen a Demon vessel get murdered. No need need to cause her more distress.

"Dad?"

"It's alright, sweetheart," Jimmy said solemnly, a hint of concern and nervousness bleeding through. "We'll help her up."

She nodded, stepping away to let Beth put Charlie's good arm over her shoulder for support. When Jimmy took hold of the other one, Charlie released a shout and nearly blacked out. He let go like he'd been burned, but quickly grabbed her around the waist instead to steer her towards the car.

Dean and Sam ran out. "Where's your wife?"

"Right here," the woman called. Charlie tried to turn her head to make sure the woman was alright, but Dean bellowed, "Let's go!" Charlie hoped he'd had the thought of grabbing her bag before they left.

They moved quickly, Jimmy supporting Charlie until his family was safely in the car. She protested going in first. "Get in, man. Beside your daughter. Now," she ordered firmly, when he hesitated. The young girl sat on her mothers lap, Jimmy slid into the middle, and Charlie had Beth sit on her lap. Her cousin protested, but Charlie knew that Beth was the lighter of them, and she was ready to pass out.

The Impala's tires squealed with how fast Dean coaxed it to speed. Charlie apologized profusely to all of them before she passed out.

* * *

_**Location: A quiet parking lot.**_

"Do you even realize what you've done?"

Charlie found it difficult to open her eyes to look at an irate Sam. Dean had opened the trunk to allow Charlie to rest on the lip. They were all outside at the back of the car to try and give Jimmy and his wife some private time to discuss their situation in the back seat. With the possibility of being concussed (and a fucked up arm) Charlie found it difficult to remain entirely upright and focused for Sam's ranting. As the minutes passed, she was steadily sagging. Sam didn't seem to care.

"Ease up, Sammy," Dean warned, frowning at his brother. He'd been eyeing Sam since he let loose on Jimmy about his family several minutes ago. Dean was tense, hands at his sides, and Charlie suspected he was getting ready to catch her should she pass out again.

"No, Dean!" Sam snapped. He waved a hand at Charlie. "She let him come here. She fucking went with him, and now his family's in danger!" He turned back to her with a furious scowl. "I thought you were smart, Charlie. What the fuck were you thinking?"

Charlie sighed, cradling her arm to her chest. She suspected a fracture, or at least a strain on the bones. She wasn't going to be using it for a while, that was for sure. "That's my business."

"Are you kidding me?"

"Sam."

"Back off, Dean. You've put a target on them, Charlie. Congratulations. You've killed Jimmy's family."

Beth, leaning on the trunk beside Charlie, kept silent. Charlie released a disbelieving laugh. "Fuck off, Mr. Not so High and Mighty. Or is it just Mr. Not so High?"

Sam froze, before a dark expression took over his features. "You don't know anything."

"I know more than you think."

"What the hell is she talkin' about, Sam?"

Sam flicked his gaze to his brother. "She's delirious."

Charlie let out a derisive, "Hah!"

Dean was getting more and more incensed. "What the hell is going on?"

"Were you hoping Cas would come back?"

Charlie frowned at the non sequitur. "What?"

Sam stepped closer, crowding her against the trunk. "That's why you went with him, isn't it? Why you went with Jimmy. You were hoping Cas would come back. You're so chummy these days."

The silence was deafening. She suspected even Jimmy and his family were listening at this point. "What the hell are you going on about?"

"There's something going on with you. Back with Chuck and all that weird Prophet mix up." He stood straighter with a knowing look on his face, but Charlie didn't think he had the right answers. He was just postulating. "You may not think I know, but I'm not blind. You're looking for something. Bobby's hinted at it. I've heard… others, talk about it. And it's got nothing to do with the Apocalypse. You're up to something."

Charlie took in a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "I think you need to back off now, Sam. We have a lot of things to deal with right now. You need to calm the fuck down, and back the fuck off. Now is really not the time to pretend to know some secret." She pushed him away with her good hand, Dean helping by grabbing his brother's coat to pull him away.

A few minutes later, Sam was hotwiring a car for Amelia and Claire. Charlie had already climbed in the back seat of the Impala, silently working on a sling from clothing in her bag. _What the fuck does Sam know about me?_ She thought uncharitably. So she was looking for part of her soul, big deal. It was personal, and nothing dangerous as far as she could tell.

She'd have to have a serious talk with Bobby, though. He'd promised to keep her secrets, and Sam was unpredictable right now, so she really didn't want him speculating about her. A deep throb at her temple forced her to stop thinking. It was too much right now. Injured and going on very little sleep the last day or so, Charlie focused her attention back to her injuries.

The sling finished, she rooted around her bag for a water bottle while Dean pulled the car away. Bottle in hand, Charlie tried to tear up a t-shirt so she could soak a strip of cloth. With her arm now tied up, she failed miserably.

"Here," Jimmy said gently, taking the fabric and tearing off a piece. Grabbing the bottle, he opened it, wetted the material and handed it over.

"Thanks." Swiping it across her face, Charlie grimaced at the flakes of blood that had been caked there. She needed a shower and painkillers.

* * *

_I should have seen it._

Charlie clenched and unclenched her hands.

_I should have seen it._

Opening her eyes, all she could see was the blur of dark gravel in a yellow halo from the lamppost outside the warehouse. A pipe next to her foot was an easy weapon. The freezing iron burned her skin when she picked it up, but Charlie ignored it in favor of beating anything inanimate in sight.

She threw all of her weight into the first swing, denting something metal that she couldn't distinguish in her release of energy. _I should have seen it. _

Swing after swing, every contact loud and echoing, she screamed her frustration into the night air. It wasn't until she nearly struck a concerned Beth that she stopped. The pipe dropped, sinking into the loose gravel with a _thunk_. Gasping for air, Charlie swallowed, only to wince at the rawness of her throat. Sweat clung to her skin, soaking through her clothes.

"Charlie?" Beth said gently, eyes and stance wary of her cousin.

"What the hell, Charlie?" Dean added, although it didn't carry much heat. He looked more perplexed at her sudden bout of crazy. Charlie was just glad that Amelia and Claire were gone, having left in the car Sam had gotten them earlier. It was hard enough to deal with the loss of a husband and father, but it was worse when his choice was either die or become a vessel for a creature that they had only just discovered. "Look, I know it got fucked up in there, but…"

"I can't do this right now," Charlie rasped, turning away from her cousin, a confused Dean, and an uncomfortable (and alarmingly) dark Sam. She walked in no particular direction, ending up near the road.

"_I want to make sure you understand. You won't die or age. If this last year was painful for you, picture a hundred, a thousand more, like it."_

"_It doesn't matter. You take me. Just take me."_

She walked along the edge of the asphalt for several minutes, before stopping to bend over and vomit. When her stomach was empty, Charlie sank to her knees, the hard and gritted blacktop dimpling her skin through her jeans. Sitting back on her heels, she swallowed the silence around her and then dropped her head back to release a short, frustrated scream.

She slumped when the fight left her. "What do you want from me? Why did you make me this way?"

A familiar feeling ran over her skin. Castiel. He stood in her periphery, in the middle of the road, watching her. "I don't know the answers."

Too tired, too angry, and too hurt to acknowledge him, Charlie had the distinct feeling he was not actually talking to her directly. A slight shimmer in the dark confirmed that he was trying to shield himself from her sight. "I should have seen it," she murmured, looking at her hands. They were red from the pipe. Castiel had healed her earlier injuries rather abruptly when he'd passed her on his way out of the warehouse. His parting shot about not having to answer to Man had stunned them all. _What did they do to him up there?_

_What does it matter? What he did to Jimmy is unforgivable. Unfeeling. Inhuman._

_Why did I expect him to be Human?_

Castiel was quiet for a moment, before he slowly approached, crouching in front of her. She suspected he was debating on whether or not to indulge his curiosity. "Should have seen what?"

Staring at his shoes, she spoke quietly, keeping the answer neutral. "I should have seen what she was."

"You could not have known."

Charlie closed her eyes tightly. _She _should _have known._ She hadn't even looked at the woman. She'd passed out in the car. She'd woken in a daze, Dean ushering her out to give Jimmy some privacy, only to be chewed out by Sam before turning back to the car in a huff without a glance. She hadn't seen the Demon in the woman until they were in the warehouse, and it was too late. The bitch had shot Jimmy, Castiel had taken over his daughter, and Jimmy had pleaded to be taken instead if only to spare her. Charlie watched it all and had been helpless to do anything. What good was she? "What am I supposed to do?"

"I do not know," came the Angels reply. "My path has been corrected. I can no longer help you."

The breath left her. She had tried so hard to do the right thing. Jimmy had given her hope that she wasn't alone in her search. Charlie had even briefly considered telling Castiel everything she had found about herself when Jimmy had confided in her that Castiel was concerned.

Carefully pushing her feelings down to lock them behind her barriers, Charlie took a deep breath and stood. Turning away from the Angel as he followed her action, she could spot Beth waiting in the distance with Dean and Sam. Castiel moved to stand beside her, watching them.

Before she took the first step away to her, Charlie turned her gaze towards the Angel. It was strange seeing him possess Jimmy. It was strange that she now thought of Jimmy as a separate being. He had deserved that regard so much earlier, but she hadn't given him the respect he warranted. Now he was gone. _I'm sorry, Jimmy. I fucked up._

Charlie walked away before Castiel realized she could see him, numb and exhausted.

* * *

_A/N: I apologise for the late late update. A lot of personal things happened in my life, but I am slowly getting back on track now. Hope you enjoy! ZeB xx_


	12. It's Time

"_And I knew that tone, the pleading, the fear that was sitting like a spiked ball in his chest. He'd been left behind too, maybe more than I had." ― Lili St. Crow._

**12\. It's time.**

_**Date: May 8th, 2009.**_

_**Location: Bobby's house, kitchen.**_

The kitchen was filled with the intermittent buzz of the tattoo gun scouring its way across Charlie's skin. It was night, but the lights and giant flashlight Beth had borrowed from Bobby helped her begin Charlie's new markings.

It also helped to drown out Sam's torment from the basement.

Charlie stared listlessly at Bobby and Dean at the table beside her, not really taking them in. She didn't even care for her modesty while Beth inked her. She was sitting backwards in an old wooden chair, one arm across the back as a chin rest, the other loose at her side. Her tank top was over her head and still on her arms, covering her chest, and for once in her life she was unconcerned with the softness of her belly, or how pale and scarred her skin was. Bobby overcame his embarrassment quickly, especially since she had remained silent from the moment they had entered the house and locked up Sam for his abrupt intervention.

Bobby offered her a drink of whiskey by shaking the bottle at her. Charlie ignored him. He pursed his lips and sighed.

Dean swigged back a finger of alcohol, flicking his gaze between the direction of the basement stairs and Charlie. He jutted his chin at her. "Did you know about this?"

His tone was soft, almost neutral, but she could feel the frisson of anger beneath his calm demeanor. His brother was suffering withdrawal from Demon's blood, and Charlie had no way – or desire – to tell him that she had seen it from the beginning, because Sam had it in him since he was six months old. She also suspected he was referring to her comments after Sam had chewed her out at the car, before Jimmy -

Charlie forced away the memory.

Beth pulled back to refresh the ink. There was no apology in her voice when she spoke, but there was no defensiveness either. Simply truth. "We both knew. I was the first to see him do it with Ruby."

"And when exactly were you going to tell me?"

"I don't know." Beth sighed at his accusing tone, going back to Charlie's shoulder. The rose she had planned for her cousins first tattoo was coming along nicely. She had worked in the same protection ruins Charlie had on the necklaces around her neck, and a fine bit of spell work was wound through the ink, halfway through the tattoos completion. It should be the start of anchoring Charlie to the world during an episode. Beth had insisted after Charlie had let loose with an iron bar over losing Jimmy. "We didn't know how."

"Saying something like, 'Hey, Dean, Sammy's drinking Demon blood,' would have been a good start."

"Dean, don't be an ass," Bobby exasperatingly, throwing back his own drink and pouring another. "I wouldn't have known how, either, so give it a rest. It's done now. We just have to let it happen." He turned to Beth and Charlie. "Tell me what you've been up to. It's been a while."

Beth, when Charlie didn't respond, told Bobby of their continuing search for the Seals. When Dean went to the bathroom, she explained briefly about Charlie going a bit crazy with what happened to Jimmy. When Charlie didn't protest, Beth also told Bobby what they'd been doing about Charlie's supposedly missing piece of soul.

Bobby removed his cap and ran a hand through his hair. "Well shit."

"Yeah."

"I didn't even think that was possible."

"According to Angels, Charlie's sources, and Kieran, it's not."

"And featherhead was going to help?"

"Yeah. _Was_," Beth said shortly. Charlie flinched at sudden excess pressure on the needle. "Fuck, sorry Charlie."

There was still no sign of Dean, so Bobby sat back in his chair. "Let me get this straight. You've been talkin' to some strangers about Angels and Seals, Pamela sent you off to a nutjob Hunter who thinks you're missing something pretty fuckin' vital, the attacks you've been havin' all your life are about you fadin', and there's no leads at all to help you find out what the hell is going on? The Angels are warnin' you off learning either about them or yourself, and the one Angel who might have believed you and helped you fucked off after a little trip home?"

Charlie looked up with a raised eyebrow. That was pretty much the gist of it.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ in Heaven."

Beth snorted, refreshing her ink again.

A door closed, and Dean returned. Bobby nodded towards Beth's work. "Why are you doing that now?"

"She doesn't have a way of staying grounded, so I was hoping this would help," Beth began. Dean frowned at their conversation, but when they didn't explain, he pursed his lips and remained silent, taking up a proffered glass of whiskey from Bobby. "I'm gonna put some spells with it, and hopefully, as it grows a bit, it might offer some protection if she has an attack."

"How you gonna anchor it?" Bobby mused, tilting his head in genuine interest.

Beth leaned back, swiping the excess ink away to see how it was progressing. She'd been at it for several hours, since they had locked Sam away. The rose was a blood red, blending into a dark blue towards the short, partial stem. Etched into the petals were runes, black and thick. A long, thin, vine-like part of the stem curled up and around to blend with Charlie's anti-possession tattoo to incorporate it. Beth blew out a breath that disturbed her loose bangs. "I have no idea." She shook her head and shrugged. "I'd have to secure a link to something here on our plane, but it'll have to be something living, I'd wager."

He frowned. "Why?"

"Well, an imamate object can be destroyed or moved too quickly. It'll have to be something solid and unchanging, or the link will be too easily broken. We'd have to renew it all the time. I think it'll also have to be strong enough to pull her back, and it would have to have a long lifespan. Plus, Charlie is shit with magic, so I have no idea how well it will take long term."

"So you need somethin' either you can protect and keep with ya, or else something that's solid and unchanging."

"Yeah. Not as easy as you'd think. I thought an inanimate object like a knife, but there's not enough in something like that to be substantially stable. Then I thought of an animal, but too unpredictable, short lived, and hard to transport depending on what it is. I thought of a bird, but that wouldn't be fair."

"It would have to be a person," Bobby mused. He glanced at the handprint branded into Charlie's side, but then looked away with an unreadable expression.

"I think so," Beth agreed, and Charlie saw her cousin turn her head towards Dean out of the corner of her eye. "But again, lifespan in our field of work is not a given, and they'd have to be able to be with her in case she goes too far and needs to be pulled back."

"I have no idea what the hell you're talkin' about, but it sounds complicated and impossible," Dean said, shaking his head.

Charlie glanced at Beth's designs in a little sketch book at the edge of the table. When Beth had first suggested it, it seemed like a good idea, and she wasn't above trying anything at this rate if it kept her stable for what was coming. When the complexity of it showed, though, she'd become more dubious. An animate object, that had a stable enough energy to sustain the connection and anchor her to the plane of Earth without dissipating, wouldn't be easy to find. The constant energy needed the ability to connect to her, be unchanging, and to bring her back at a moments notice.

The only being that had been able to do that so far had been Castiel, but she was unsure about latching on to the tail end of a comet who was on a different path.

* * *

A little later, when Rufus called the house, Bobby immediately went to confirm what the older Hunter had come across. More Seals had been broken, most of them in one day.

They were losing.

_The impossible task of fighting against such ridiculous odds, _Charlie thought, thinking again how strange it was to have so many Seals, only for a fraction to bring on the Apocalypse. _If that many monumental Seals can be broken in a day, how can we beat it when even the Angels struggle? _There couldn't be many left.

She also thought it peculiar that Ruby had continued to help Sam defeat Demons. _Where was she when Sam was weak at Jimmy's house?_

When Bobby suggested that maybe Sam was better off fighting for them with what he'd been doing, Charlie finally spoke. Seated on the couch, tattoo finally finished, she said a simple, "Bad idea."

Bobby sighed, gesturing helplessly. "I know you hate me for suggesting it – hell, _I_ hate me for suggesting it, I love that boy like a son – but he could take 'em out. He might even be able to take out Lilith."

Dean didn't respond. Charlie shook her head. "I think it's a bad idea all the same. There's something weird going on here. Don't you feel it? This whole thing is fucking strange."

Bobby sighed. "Saying that over and over isn't gonna make it any clearer, Charlie. Look, all I'm saying is, that maybe he's here instead of on the battlefield because we love him too much."

There was silence for a few minutes. Charlie closed her eyes, and she made a decision. "It'll change him," she said solemnly, working her jaw because this conversation was going to be a bit delicate when it came to truths.

"What does that mean?" Dean asked, turning to watch her. He was already frowning, and she didn't like the sudden air of wary caution. It felt like a little gap, ready to widen despite their camaraderie over the months. This was why she didn't like dealing with people. Everything was always fine for a while, and then Charlie had to say or do something that revealed how different she was and she would go back to being alone.

She licked her lips, glancing at Bobby to see the older man frown in confusion. "I... can see things." Dean opened his mouth, but she forged on ahead before he could get a word out. "Little things... about people. Manifestations of abnormalities in their features. I was born with it." Here she hedged the truth, hoping Bobby would keep quiet. "Kind of like reading a person's aura or something. I've never really had a name for it. I... could see it in Sam... from the beginning. When I first met you. Only, I didn't realise what it was. His situation was unique."

There was a tense silence. "And you didn't say anything?"

Charlie grimaced, picking a loose thread on the arm of the couch. Finally looking up at Dean, she could see his face match his tone. Neutral. Blank. Burning anger underneath. "I can imagine how well that would have gone. Look," she sighed, "I'm telling you this because I can see it in Sam. It's grown since he started drinking Demon blood – but I didn't know the cause until Beth told me about it, before you got out of hospital." She rubbed her hands across her face, suddenly feeling exhausted. She hadn't slept properly since the warehouse, nights plagued by nightmares of Jimmy's little girl living for an eternity with an Angel... She was lucky if she got three hours. "It's getting worse. It's migrating around his body, and his aura is darker, more corrupt than any Humans should be unless..."

"Unless they were drinking Demon blood," Bobby finished.

"Yeah."

"Why the fuck didn't you tell me this before?"

She flinched at Dean's sharp tone. "Because it was private."

"_Private?_" he asked incredulously. He shook his head, arms rising and falling like he was helpless to explain how idiotic that sounded.

"Yes," Charlie snapped, finally standing to face his ire. "Private. As in, it's none of your fucking business what I can and can't do. I said I'd tell you when I'm ready."

"Oh, that's what that was about?" He nodded, pursing his lips and tensing up. "Well, thanks for letting me know."

"Don't be sour, Dean. I didn't know the best way to handle it, because this scenario never goes well. It was none of your business."

Dean stood straighter, expression turning condescendingly expectant, as if it was his every right to have known. "It's none of my business that you're a freak?"

"_Dean!_" Bobby's admonishment was harsh, and shocked.

Charlie swallowed, and stopped breathing for a moment before stepping back, forcing her features to remain stoic. He was angry, and had a right to be, but she had a right to her privacy as well.

"No, Bobby. She's been hiding this shit since we met her. Who knows what else?"

"Dean – "

"It's fine Bobby. Leave it. I'm going out for some air." Swallowing the bile rising in her throat, Charlie forced herself to move lest she pass out from exhaustion. She passed Beth coming out of the bathroom on her way out.

Her cousin stopped in the hall, drying her hands on a towel. "Charlie? What happened? What did I miss?"

Charlie shook her head, stepping out into the cold night air. Not for the first time in her life, Charlie wanted to feel it sting her skin.

* * *

When Charlie's walk finally exhausted her, she collapsed onto the bed in Bobby's spare room, unconscious as soon as her head hit the pillow. Despite the dead sleep, her dreams remained wholly unpleasant. She never woke, though, not until the sun crept through the old curtains to shine on her face. Unfortunately, she still felt just as tired as the night before. It was times like these that she wished her body would let her sleep more than six and a half hours. She needed it.

Breakfast tasted bland, even when Beth slathered ketchup over her eggs in an effort to cheer her up like she used to as a child. Bobby filled her in on Dean's conversation with Castiel that she'd missed during her walk. Dean had pledged his service to Heaven. _Fucking morons. The lot of them. _

Bobby was still trying to wrap his head around what Dean had done, when the sudden quiet sent them running down to Sam. An hour later, they were back in the library, Charlie watching Dean agonize over the decisions for his brothers well being. Sam had been in some state. With all respect to Bobby, Charlie privately agreed with Dean 'Mr. Sensitive' Winchester; giving Sam what he 'needed' was a terrible idea.

The rest of the day passed in near silence and tension. Charlie debated leaving altogether. Dean ignored her, Bobby was helpless to fix things, and Beth tried to be as invisible as possible.

* * *

The iron was rough on the pads of her fingers. Dean and Bobby tried to speculate what could have let Sam out, but after a few minutes of no answers, Dean got it in his head that it was Ruby, and if it wasn't, that was person he would most likely seek out anyway. Dean left, and Bobby went upstairs with Beth. Charlie stayed a few minutes more, studying the break in the Devil's Traps. There was no way Ruby could have gone near the panic room, and Charlie didn't think the Demon was strong enough to break the inner Trap. Hell, she couldn't have even touched the door...

It was a little too convenient, and, despite Bobby not caring about how, Charlie was concerned. The how of it was the most important. _What else can break a Trap and open an iron door without touching it?_

Charlie closed her eyes in resignation. Spinning around, she walked swiftly to the basement stairs and ascended to stride out into the scrap yard. She walked until she found a spot far enough away that no one would disturb her, finding a hollowed out car to sit on its wide bumper.

She sighed. "Cas?"

A few minutes of silence followed her soft call.

"I know you can hear me, Castiel. I'm not Dean, so I'm not screaming myself hoarse on the off chance you'll grace me with your presence."

A frisson of energy alerted her to his appearance, the opening in the air so familiar now she almost didn't notice it. He was five feet away, directly in her line of sight, but he didn't say a word. She knew immediately by his silence and countenance that it was he who'd let Sam out. Her initial doubt had been brief, but enough that she wanted to call him on the possibility that he would know who _did_ do it.

Her question of "What happened?" changed to "Why?"

He worked his jaw, looking away to the remnants of another car, before turning back to her. "Orders."

Charlie frowned. "Orders? That doesn't make sense. The Angels wanted Sam to get out?" She looked away, trying to work through a valid reasoning. "But he'd only go and get more blood before –" She stopped, blinking. "They want him to kill Lilith, don't they? Not Dean. Sam. But _why? _They asked for Dean's loyalty, said that he'd be the one to end it. Why would they let Sam out?" Castiel shifted uncomfortably, unable to meet her eyes. Charlie watched him carefully. "Cas."

"I shouldn't be here."

"But you came anyway." She stood to walk towards him. He stepped back abruptly. She stopped her advance, feeling like she was approaching a skittish animal. "You came back. You didn't have to." When he still couldn't look at her, Charlie felt a growing hope. She spoke slowly, taking the same approach as if she was physically moving towards him. "Whatever they did wasn't enough, was it? You still question it."

His dark gaze flicked up to her. His voice was lower, sharper. "Don't presume."

Charlie shook her head, shifting her weight onto one foot. "What happened to you up there?" she asked softly.

"My path was corrected. I strayed too far." It was an automatic response. Almost programmed. What was worse: he looked like he believed it.

She didn't know what to say, faced with it. There were a few tense moments of silence, and then he vanished.

* * *

"It's getting a little heavy in there," Beth said conversationally, slumping back in the driver's seat of her oyster car. She had gotten a friend to drive the damn thing up to Bobby's on his way to a concert. The seats still smelled like weed. Beth was still furious.

The resting purr of the engine drowned out any loud noise from the house, but both Charlie and her cousin knew there was an argument happening. Dean had been ridiculously stubborn about Sam's decision to walk out, and Bobby, being Bobby, would blow his top to set him straight.

Charlie grimaced, folding her arms and leaning on the lip of the driver's side. "It's probably not pretty," she agreed.

Beth sighed and tapped her hands on the wheel, glancing at her cousin. "You sure you want me to go?"

Charlie shook her head. "It's not that I want you to go. I just have a feeling the shit's about to hit the fan, and I want Martha prepared. I need you to get in touch and start planning. I don't know what's going to happen, but I feel like it's not going be good."

Beth nodded in resignation. "Right. Call me soon. I don't want to hear that you've gone and gotten yourself in trouble the minute I leave."

Charlie smirked. "There was a time I'd be saying that to you."

Beth laughed. "Feels weird, doesn't it?"

"That it does." Charlie stood up, tapping the frame of the door. "Go on, before something else happens. Be careful."

"I will." The younger women shifted gears and pulled out of the scrap yard, kicking up a trail of dust. Charlie stuffed her hands into her pockets and decided on a short walk around the yard. It was a habit at this point.

When she returned to the house, Bobby strode out from the kitchen. "Where the hell have you been?"

Charlie froze. He sounded beyond pissed, but underneath it was a strain of something else. She was on alert immediately. "What happened?"

"Dean's gone, that's what happened! Up and vanished right in front of me." He turned sharply and marched back to the library. "He was by the window, and suddenly – " He clicked his thumb and finger together, "Gone."

Charlie walked over to the window, halting suddenly at the sight of a new addition to the living room. "Bobby?"

Bobby was already grabbing a bag and weapons, though Charlie didn't have a clue what he was thinking of doing with them.

"Bobby."

"What?"

"I think Angels took him."

He tensed, hand ceasing the action of stuffing a .22 into one corner of the duffle. "What?"

"Angels took him. There's a rift here, though I've never seen one left behind before."

"A what?" He dropped the bag to walk over to her. "Like what they disappear through? I don't see nothin'."

Charlie pointed to the small tear, only a finger's length in size and equally as wide, hovering about chest height in front of the window. "It's right there. I've never seen one left open before."

"Why would they leave it open?"

Charlie frowned. "I don't know. It might be an accident. I don't know anything about them, other than they're used like superhighways for Angels, maybe Demons, but travel through it is instantaneous. At least, according to Ava it is. My experience felt like a lifetime."

"Maybe it was deliberate."

"Maybe."

There was a silence. Charlie couldn't look away. The tear was colorful, and jagged in shape, but with strange, neat edges. Nothing moved in or out of it; it just looked like a swirling slice of color on another side of a mirror, shining slightly when she moved her hand towards it –

"What the hell you doin', girl?" Bobby growled, grasping her wrist firmly and pulling it away. "I may not see it, but I sure as hell don't think it's a good idea for you to touch it."

"But what if..."

"What? What if they left it open deliberately? Could be a trap for anyone to walk into."

It could be, she thought, but it could also be an invitation. No one but Bobby and her family knew she could see things, but did an Angel know? _Does an Angel know that I can see it, possibly use it?_ Keiran had said to try certain things with her abilities. Maybe this was something she should risk.

"I think I'm going to have to try, Bobby. Dean could be in trouble."

"Yeah, and Dean might not be just yet. He told me what you were like when you grabbed onto Cas back in that damn warehouse. Travelling through that thing messed you up. What help are you going to be on the other side?"

Charlie bit her lip. Bobby was right. It was foolish. It really was. She wanted to step back, she did, but there was something there, something... nudging her in the back of her mind.

'_Time to live, little one... Time to go... Look after my brother... It's time... time to test your limits...'_

She pulled her hand away from Bobby's grip, fingers reaching up and up, sinking into the void of color on either side of the tear. She pulled it apart and stepped forward, just as the voice urged her onwards. There was a strange smell of something sweet -

* * *

_The chaos stripped her of her skin._

_In the long drawn out wail escaping her throat, she sought a swift death._

_The energy swiped away her sight, and it smothered her in a womb of heat that boiled the marrow in her bones._

_Focus._

_Focus._

_What brought her here?_

_Where was here?_

_A roar deafened her, threatening to burst her eardrums, but it was a welcome relief from the acid in her veins._

_A roar._

_A rift._

_She was in a rift._

_Focus._

_An Angel had left it._

_Suddenly weightless in the void, the color turned to gray. She could feel the remnants of her soul losing its grip._

Help me.

_A resounding roll of thunder forced her to stop in place. Pain flushed over her skin. Something hard on one side. A barrier. She opened her eyes. Suspended in a never-ending expanse of colored cloud and lightning that was bleeding, bleeding into gray. It shifted around her, electricity changing, gentling, caressing her limbs gently, exploring her curiously._

_A press against her mind, like a physical hand weighing her skull. There were no words, but she knew something was asking her what she was. Why she was. Slowly, it began to pick her apart, cradling her body, and slicing away every part of her, piece by piece. It didn't hurt, but it felt wrong, intrusive, damning. What would happen when there was nothing left of her?_

_It sparked a panic, and she jerked away from the touch. It was so unexpected; the _thing _let her fall... allowed her to slip past the barrier._

* * *

Charlie 'landed' without any fanfare. One minute she'd been in that place, the next, lying on her side in a brightly lit room.

Someone was talking.

Charlie tried to move, but her body was too weak. Frustrated, and reeling from her bizarre experience, her throat released a whimper.

The voice stopped, but the sound of footsteps vibrated under her ear. "Charlie? Jesus Christ!"

_Dean?_

"Charlie, how the fuck did you get here?" He grabbed her shoulders and hauled her up. She listed to one side, before he shoved her back to rest against the wall. She slurred out, what she hoped, sounded like "Tear," but then her brain caught up with her and she realized he wouldn't have a notion about what she was talking about. She groaned when he frowned. "Did an Angel bring you?"

She shook her head. The cream room, and Dean's contrasting dark clothes were beginning to seep away to gray, just like the void. Fuck.

"Shit, are you having another one? Another attack?"

She nodded.

"What do I do?"

Her eyes felt heavy, limbs equally so. There was nothing he could do. Concentrating on articulating her words out of her numb mouth, Charlie said, "Talk... to... me. Tell... me."

Confused at first, he just held her steady by her shoulders. When she made a feeble jut of her chin to the room around them, he understood and told her what was going on as far as he knew. The Angels were keeping him prisoner until the 'right time', whatever that meant. There was only one Seal left to break, and Sam hadn't made any contact, even though Dean had left a message to apologize. The Angels had sealed him in the room. Even Castiel was keeping him here, though Dean suspected that the Angel knew more than he was letting on, but was restricted by the likes of Zachariah from telling Dean what it was.

The room was getting darker now. Charlie could feel herself slipping further down. Her mind was sluggishly trying to connect everything Dean was telling her. On the verge of passing out, Charlie startled with the sharp sting of Dean slapping her face. He grimaced. "Sorry. I was losing you."

She nodded. "S'ok." It helped a bit. Much like what Martha and Beth used to do.

He sighed. "I'm gonna try and get us outta here. Stay with me, alright? Don't go down the rabbit hole."

Charlie's eyebrows raised in surprise. That was... quite an accurate description. She had never thought of it that way. He stood, grabbing the first heavy thing nearby – some sort of base stand decoration thing – and began hurling it at the wall as hard as he could like a baseball bat. It took four magical repairs of the wall for Dean to step back in defeat. "Son of a bitch."

Charlie drifted in and out of focus a few times, only peripherally aware of Zechariah's arrival. She'd never met the Angel, but he looked like a dick. His vessel looked like a dick, and his changing form underneath looked like a dick; she counted four faces, three of animal origin, and one almost like a man, only the features were distorted in a vicious parody of a solid shape. They shifted like a swirling vortex of cloud and energy, swimming into view whenever he moved. His wings were a vibrant crimson, layered in threes. The primary set in the middle layer were darker, the other two vanishing and reappearing like an after image effect, or overlapping strobe. And they were messy; feathers sticking out in various directions, rough and slightly dull. _Unpolished silver_, Charlie thought.

He was a Seraph. Had to be.

Charlie suspected the visage was supposed to be frightening, but she was slipping further away, the fear fading easily in the face of this beings arrogance.

He began a 'reluctant' spiel of how the Angels wanted the Apocalypse to happen. Charlie thought they were idiots. _Why let it happen? _Humans wouldn't stand a chance, and the Angels had already lost so many brothers and sisters. _Why sacrifice more in a war they can prevent now? _He went on to explain that they still needed Dean to stop Lucifer once he rose up from Hell. There was something important there, she was sure, something she'd been thinking about before about weapons, but her mind let it go before she could get a hold of it.

Her skin began to shiver despite the warmth in the room. It was getting hard to concentrate, and sounds were sinking lower and lower. A distant thought crept up: she _knew_ it had been suspicious that only a fraction of Seals were to be broken. What a fuck up, and they'd all played right into it.

He had just finished telling Dean the truth when he spotted her. His forehead creased in confusion. Curling his lip, he asked, "Who are you?"

"Magic... fairy," was the only thing to pop out of her mouth. Not much longer now and she'd lose coherency altogether.

He scowled. "Funny. Who are you, and how did you get in here?"

She took a deep breath to fortify herself. For God's sake, she was slumped against the wall, entirely helpless against this jackass. "I'm nobody, and ...none of your business."

"There's no way you could have gotten in here."

"I think you've turned him into a parrot," Dean commented, raising a challenging eyebrow at the Angel.

Zachariah narrowed his eyes at Dean but marched forward to crouch in front of her. Tilting his head, he studied her pensively. "It's impossible." She didn't react when his hands shot out, lifting her easily by a fisted hand wrapped in her clothes to dangle from his grip, the toes of her boots not even able to brush the floor. "I think it's time for you to leave."

All she could think of was a vehement, _**No.**_

Zachariah shook her when nothing happened. "What is this? What's going on?"

Charlie, stuck having her gaze fixed on the crude creature before her, could only watch the frustration grow on his changing faces. The lion bared its teeth, before her vision darkened again, forcing her mind to try and block the confusing countenance. Faced with his vessels scowling features now, she smiled when he shook her again, sending up sparks of energy through her bones that grounded her for a brief moment.

"What's happening? Why can't I send you away?"

She snorted. "Performance problems?"

A lightning strike of power cracked against her skin. She cried out reflexively. He dropped her with a snarl. Sniffing and fixing his lapels, he gritted his teeth and smoothed his expression. "Fine. I'll be back when I find out how you got here, and what to do about you. Enjoy your stay."

Charlie groaned, Dean helping her back into a corner for support. "You ok?"

She shook her head, before her face crumpled and she giggled. "Performance issues."

"Charlie?"

"Limp ...dick," she enunciated slowly. "Asshole."

"Yeah, he is. I'm startin' to lose you again."

She blinked slowly. Why was there a man holding her? Deliberately obtuse scenario... del... Dee... Dean. Dean. This was Dean. "Deee," she moaned, trying to focus on his face.

"Shit."

"Need... to get out."

He looked mad, and sad. She giggled. That rhymed. "I know, Charlie. I know. I just don't know how."

He stood up and took out a little black rectangle. Phone. It was a phone. Phones are used to contact people. People like Dean. And Bo... Bobby! And Sam. Sam too. Sam was important. Why was Sam important?

Demons! Something to do with Demons. Why Demons? Demons and Angels. Fighting. _Focus, Charlie. C'mon._

She looked away from Dee pacing with the little rectangle. A flash and there was someone there. Familiar. He had wings. Dark, but sad, droopy wings. So much weight dragging them down. "Pretty," she murmured. Dee turned to talk to the pretty Angel. A low buzzing made her frown, unable to pick out what they were talking about without a massive amount of effort. Something about Destiny. Who was Destiny? And why were they shouting?

"_What is worth saving?_" one of them growled.

She closed her eyes, and scrunched up her face, a low keening whine erupting from her throat, beginning low and getting louder when they continued to argue. _Stop. Stop. Stop. Please. Stop._

There was a sudden silence. "Charlie?"

At the sound of the voice, Charlie clamped her mouth shut, opening her eyes to find the Angel man looking at her. She didn't understand the expression on his face. He moved towards her, but the man... D... Dee, blocked his path.

"You don't touch her. If you see this through, there's no point. Let her fade."

Charlie didn't understand why he said that. _Fade. Fade. I'm fading_.

Dee began arguing again, and the Angel man finally left. No. No, where was he going?

"He can't help, Charlie," D snapped, pacing to the other end of the room. "He's a lost cause. Just like we all are, apparently."

Lost cause. Lost. Fade. No more. She understood that part. She accepted that part. That was fine. Closing her eyes, Charlie began to let go. Lost cause. She'd heard it before. Lost. Lost forever...

"Oh shit. Charlie. Charlie!"

* * *

She screamed at the searing heat on her temples, back arching painfully. "**Come back. Now.**"

Choking, Charlie gripped the hands on either side of her face, eyes flying open to see Castiel's an inch from her own. He released her abruptly, and she could feel herself fading fast once more. It wasn't enough. "We don't have much time. I've brought her back from the edge, but I don't know how long it will last."

"Get us outta here, Cas."

The Angel nodded, grabbing Charlie's shoulder and Dean's arm, and they were going through that horrible place again. Castiel must have known, for it was nowhere near as long a journey like before, and she was still sane enough to collapse to the floor without passing out. She stayed there while they explained what was going on to Chuck. Oh. They were in Chuck's house.

She heard it before they did; a shrill, furious roar that threatened to burst her eardrums. The foundations of the house shook like it was in the middle of an earthquake. A divine light shone through every available crevice. Charlie covered her ears, looking up to through squinted eyes to see Cas send Dean away.

The next few minutes would be a blur when Charlie tried to recollect what happened. She remembered Castiel sending Chuck to the other side of the room out of danger. She remembered Castiel changing his stance to be battle ready; bent forward, arms outstretched with hands clenched, and wings spread full for balance and defence. He roared at the incoming figure of electric light. She remembered feeling this terrible dread when the being showed its form, towering over Castiel's vessel in its shifting glory. Her friend would lose. He would die. And there was nothing she could do.

A blinding light. The after image of Castiel's form burning away, wings on fire and disintegrating, was fixed into her mind for all eternity. Castiel's vessel was destroyed, ripped apart to decorate Chuck's walls. Castiel's true form, now freed, took the brunt of the continuing force the Archangel pushed towards him. He shrank inwards for a hairsbreadth of a second, before a shockwave blasted outwards, striking her dead center. Charlie gasped, knowing this would destroy her utterly. Her soul couldn't survive this. Castiel's energy seared across her skin, and without thinking, she latched on with whatever survival instinct she had left.

With a sudden focus during his death, Castiel wrapped himself around her automatically, and then she was wrenched away to -


	13. The Wanderer

_The darkest places in hell are reserved for those who maintain their neutrality in times of moral crisis. – Dante Alighieri_

**13\. The Wanderer**

_There was a light. So bright in the darkness, in the silence. It looked like a supernova. Like sunlight. Stardust billowed out in concentric circles, humming and vibrating in consistent bursts. Dark clouds rolled across her skin, gritty and all encompassing._

_A pressure on her lungs. Eyes stinging. Body weightless. Charlie blinked. She was underwater._

_A released breath, and she followed the bubbles to the surface, _away _from the blinding light. _A siren in the deep. _A loud gasp. Sound returned, a gentle chorus of… something she could feel in her bones. Salt crested over her tongue, and a hot breeze whipped across the skin of her face. Coughing, Charlie blinked, and then looked around. Water lapping at her chin, arms and legs working slowly, she realized her body was exhausted. Land. She needed land. There. Just ahead, about hundred feet away. She swam._

_Her toes hit the bottom. Hands followed. She collapsed to her knees when gravity took over, coughing again to rid the last of the water from her throat. The gentle rushing sound of surf on sand was soothing, almost quiet except for the song just beyond clear hearing. Heavy and water sodden, Charlie lowered herself to fall into the mushy shore with a soft slap, closing her eyes in relief. Just rest for a moment. Rest for a lifetime. _

_Something niggled at the back of her mind. Charlie tried to ignore it, but it was insistent. _Up. Up. Time to get up, sweetheart. _Nodding, cheek sinking further, she forced herself up onto her aching feet. Swiping back her hair with a shaky hand, Charlie grimaced and rubbed the back of her forearm over her face as she walked for a few steps._

_She stopped when she opened her eyes to the sight of a never ending desert, dry and cracked except for where it met the water; a vast wasteland stretched out to a set of lonely mountains, small in the distance ahead of her. Shadowed before it, two long columns stood tall, something glinting in the half light of sunset on the tops. It looked like a gateway. She almost expected to see two giant __sphinges_ _at their base, but it was too far to see._

_Looking to her right, Charlie saw another set. Closer. A pair of columns, high and towering, shining down on a - _

"_Oh," Charlie breathed. It looked like a fairy tale land full of trees, grass, hills, and flowers. There were waterfalls and lakes, birdlife and sounds of nature, and life that she had to strain to hear. On either side of the columns was a crumbling wall, overgrown with vines and weeds and spilling out into the desert. It wound all around the land as if protecting it. A border. Protecting all the good inside from the wastelands surrounding it. Something else shone there, dull and old. Unpolished. The remnants of an actual gate. Hinges badly torn, bits of… metal, perhaps, bent and strewn around the stone._

_Turning in a half circle to face the ocean, Charlie gasped at the crinkling of Earth beneath her bare feet. Confused, she glanced down to find she was wearing a simple, sodden, tank top and jeans. Strange attire for such a bizarre place. Looking back up, she was stunned at the vision before her. At the horizon line, the sky was the color of sunset. Above the fading sun, opening out like a portal to another world, was a twilight view of the night sky. Spanning the breadth of all she could take in were distant galaxies, turning lazily in their gravitational cycle. Varying planets hovered much closer, shifting moons circling smoothly among the stars. Beneath the expanse of space, the glistening ocean she had crawled out of. The universe was laid out above her._

_The heat of the wind eased to leave a thick atmosphere of air that tasted of fire. A strange weightlessness threatened to send her spiraling into the starlight above, but a heavy presence in her chest anchored her, like a tether on a balloon. A moment and she'd float away, another and she'd sink. _My body non-existent, the weight of the stars upon my soul, _Charlie thought._

_In the distance, opposite the strange land of green - a garden? - against the shimmering shoreline, there grew a form. It bobbed gently, rippling in the faux heat of the surrounding desert. It grew larger with every moment, with a fluid, even gait: the movements of a creature. Four limbs took turns to lift, swing, and impact the earth with a thunderous crack._

_Charlie stood frozen as the creature approached. It steadily increased in size, forming into a wolf–like creature, large and mountainous. Each stalk of a leg ended in a paw that would strain to fit inside Bobby's scrap yard. Its appearance continued to undulate like a desert hallucination, hinting at a changing facade; a lion, a horse, a fox, a man - and a deformed creature, antlers high and branching endlessly across the skies. This was something that couldn't exist on Earth, she thought._

_A tingling feeling in her stomach was Charlie's only warning before a force lifted her. She floated up and up, suspended on a cushion of invisible energy, until she slowed to a stop at the being's eye line._

_Hot tears streamed down her face, unchecked at the sight of its horrific beauty up close. There were no words to describe an entity of moving, pure energy. It glowed in colors she couldn't name, her brain actively trying to comprehend the shifting shades. Markings adorned its body, long and sweeping, short and staccato, on every available surface. It looked like a collection of ancient writings that swirled and danced along its skin. They imprinted on her eyes, in her mind, until she couldn't have imagined seeing anything else. Every step it took left a sphere of energy and that same writing. The spheres flickered and faded when the great creature swung to take the next step. A perfect circle was left behind instead of a footprint, markings burned into the earth as a brand._

_It continued walking, turning towards the mountains. Its darkened gaze, a void filled with the pinprick of light, swirling like a galaxy, slid slowly to eye her._

"_Who are you?" Charlie whispered._

_It blinked, leisurely, and spoke a booming, clear baritone that echoed out to ricochet back as song, without moving its mouth. _**I Am The Wanderer. The Guardian Of The Non-World. The Spirit Realm Of Suspended Creation. **_It bowed its head to finish the introduction. _**I Am The Energy From Which All Life Stems.**

_It continued to walk, making its path clear to the mountains after a cursory pass of the garden. From this height, the garden stretched on endlessly, and Charlie could see another of those strange brands on the threshold of the gate. The circle was broken however, the earth cracked and pulled apart. _

_Charlie, unable to do otherwise, glided along beside its head as they continued._

"_How did I get here? I don't understand what this place is."_

_The great creature did not look at her this time when it spoke. _**This Is The Creator's Canvas. You Traveled Here With One Of His Children.**

_An aborted gasp, the memory suddenly clear. Burning wings, a bright light and searing heat on her side. Looking down, Charlie could see the imprint of his hand flare brightly beneath her top. Once acknowledged, it settled to a dull warmth. "Castiel."_

_The Wanderer inclined his head once, an unhurried, heavy tilt down and back up._

"_What happened to me? I'm not in Heaven."_

**You Are Not, **_he agreed. _**This Is A Pocket Universe Beside Heaven's Kingdom. When Angels Die In Your Realm, Their Essence Is Brought Here. The Creator Will Leave Them Suspended, Or Remake Them As He Sees Fit. **_He eyed her again. _**Or Destroy Them Altogether.**

_Charlie swallowed, watching the mountains in the distance. If she wasn't looking at the columns closely, she wouldn't have been able to tell if they were gaining any ground. The hot air returned to caress her skin. Charlie wrapped her arms around herself. "Did I die? Is this a death for me?"_

_It hummed speculatively. _**No. If The Little One Had Not Interfered, You Would Have Faded.**

_She hadn't died, but she had been pulled here in Castiel's wake. Whatever he'd done had saved her. She would have died in Chuck's house. Frowning, she asked, "Where is Castiel?"_

_A thrum of energy sizzled across her skin, light and warm. Charlie had the distinct feeling the creature was amused. _**He Is Here. We Are To Find Him. He Wishes To Remake Him.**

_Looking around the wasteland, Charlie didn't understand. "It's empty here. How do we find him?"_

_This time the great being chuckled. It was like heavy bells echoing in her chest. _**You Have Made Yourself Blind To Many Things. Even Here, You Do Not See What Is In Front Of You.**

"_I don't understand." A tickle ran across her nose. Charlie sneezed, yelping when she opened her eyes. All around her were creatures that hadn't been there before. Some rose up high, giants touching the cosmos above. Others were much smaller, varying drastically in shape and size. Some of the giants were long limbed and short bodied, others misshapen with hunchbacks and twisted faces, some perfect and lithe, elegant and slender. Many had masks with no mouth or nose. Some just had mouths, jagged, smooth, or fixed. Another was spherical and full of eyes. Another a great maw. There were innumerable ones that looked like geometric fractals, all angles and points collected like functional muscles to make up the body. Others twisted or hovered like a mist, or twist of bone. One of the smaller ones had one feathered wing, long and tattered, stretched out and down to the ground as it lingered mid-air, several feet above the desert floor looking forlorn._

_Another looked like a bat, rodent-faced with leathered skin and deformed wings. A liquid shape morphed in place, forming a vague shape with a singular, narrow eye like a cat. Smaller again were the ones in the forms of animals: frogs, dogs, birds and horses. Maybe they _were _animals, she thought, wondering if animals had animal Guardians. There were even one or two on fire; blue and orange flames licked downwards against gravity. _

_Lion and eagle heads were common individually, but only a handful of the multidimensional faces belonged to one type of being alone; Seraphs._

_They passed one creature that seemed to be made entirely of wings, except for a torso and head of crystal. The grinding sound nearly deafened her when it turned its head. The variations in color were astounding. A prism of shades, splashed randomly, or in patterns of wondrous shapes collided throughout the crowd. Many of them were fixed like paint, clean lines and swirled patterns. The rare few were dynamic and flowing like a lava lamp or mimic octopus, dimming and brightening from one to another, luminescent and alive._

_And all of the creatures, every single one, stayed in one spot, unmoving except for their slow curiosity when the Wanderer passed with his tiny companion. Beneath them, they seemed trapped in a similar circlet of writing that the Wanderer left behind. Otherwise, there was no discernible pattern of placement. It just looked like a crowd of deformed creatures, standing like sheep, waiting to be either culled or set free. Through them all, the Wanderer strode onwards, his own path sure between them._

**Now You See.**

_Charlie nodded slowly, unable to form a sound. Castiel was here somewhere. _How are we supposed to find him?

**Despite What The Father Has Created As You Look Upon It, Each Being Here Is Unique. If You Know What You Are Looking For, You Will Find It. You Must Watch And Listen.**

_She let out a disbelieving laugh. "That doesn't help me. I don't know what he looks like here. I've only ever seen him in his vessel, and even then, it was only a bare hint. I've never seen him like… like these creatures."_

_The Wanderer chuckled again. Charlie trembled at the sound. _**You Have Seen Him, Little One. Underneath. Maybe Not All, But Enough. Listen.**

_Charlie, doubtful still but determined, nodded at her strange companion. She listened. Slowly, she began to hear the vibrating song she had heard at the shore. It took time, but she eventually realized that it was coming from the beings around them. Everything had a tone, or chord that joined another to make a cresting wave of music she had never heard before._

**The Sound Of His Creation, **_the Wanderer mused, pleased that she had done as he had requested. _**This Is The Sound Of Potential Life.**

_Charlie didn't know how to describe it, except that it was beautiful. It lulled her into an easy trance._

* * *

_They traveled for days. Outside of the song, silence reigned between them in this time. Charlie couldn't fathom what to say, and anything that crossed her mind was trivial compared to what was happening. The unusual creatures (maybe just over half of them, she thought, were Angels) became a familiar sight to her. She, too, seemed to become a familiar sight to them. Curious gazes followed her everywhere, but only one or two tried to reach out to her. Every movement was slow from the giants, and the little ones lost their interest quickly in the overwhelming shadow of her companion. She was insignificant at her size, much like them._

_Finally, they passed through the columns. There was no wall or gate like the garden. Charlie almost expected to feel something as they crossed over, but there was nothing. High enough above that Charlie had to squint, there was a wide, thin crystal that was shaped like a half moon, pointed at the sky. After another indefinable amount of time, there, ahead and to the right and facing the vast horizon behind them, was a strange creature that jarred her senses. It took her a moment to understand why it was different, or at least, why she saw it that way._

_It was a dark hue of blue, glowing somewhat dully from within, almost blended into the shadowed mountainside. It was tall, but not as tall as most of the giants, though it was a giant all the same. 'Slender' was the first thought Charlie had. Elongated everywhere, from its neck to its fingers and toes, its torso was thin, angling sharply in at the waist. It was geometrical like some of the other creatures, but only in certain places. It took her a moment to connect her brain cells to realize he was wearing protection. Vambraces, shin guards and breastplate, all looking like an oil slick shine of crystal armor, very elaborately styled. The wings that arched out from its shoulders were enormous, but charred and broken. Skeletal appendages half unfurled as if to claim space like an instinctual defense; a large contrast, because it blended like it wanted to disappear into the dark rock behind. Its head, like its hands and feet, were not attached directly to the body, but the wings were. She wondered if that was what it looked like all the time, or had it been rendered apart by some force?_

_When she reached its face, she felt her breath stall in her throat. It was... well, it was almost human. Thin and long like the rest of its body, it had the bare definition of features, as if it had worn a mask and tried to shape it before it hardened. A sharp nose directed her line of sight down to thin lips, where the curve lead her to a sharp jawline and a heavy, defining brow from the hollows of its skull, deepening the set of a pair of glowing, blank, blue-white eyes. Taking in the whole of the creature, Charlie noticed that everything about the body beneath the armor was smooth - hairless, was the only way she could think of it – except, etched into the skin, were thin markings that spanned the entire beings body, much like the Wanderer's._

_The song that resonated from the being was… different. A deep humming vibrato that ebbed and flowed up and down in octaves in ever changing loops. Like a resonant whale song on repeat, with an added note at the end every time._

_He – for she had the feeling that it leaned to that description – turned his head slowly to look at her when the Wanderer approached, stopping several meters from the giant's feet. A ripple of energy crested over his chest, and he tilted his head._

_Instantly, Charlie knew. "Castiel," she whispered._

_Castiel blinked at her, the same measured movement that all giants seemed to have here, and then he stretched out a long fingered hand, much faster than the others had. The pad of his forefinger was a half a foot away from her body when he stopped, waiting. Charlie slowly stretched out her own hand to touch it, the appendage alone larger than her entire body. The instantaneous thrum of energy that crossed into her took her breath away. She laughed._

_Without warning, the Wanderer crouched and pushed off into a long, loping stride, leaving Charlie in its wake. The great animal leapt up and through Castiel. The Angel hunched forward at the initial impact, but his body followed the arc of the creature as it landed. Castiel seemed to freeze, head tilted back and mouth open to release no sound, and then arched back, flinging his arms wide to welcome the change now beginning at the heart of him. A light expanded across his body from his center, engulfing him completely. When it faded, he was different. His hands, feet, and head were now attached to his body, he had darkened to a royal blue that shimmered a reflection of the universe above, and his wings (now restored) beat heavily once, twice, and then settled. The resulting gust nearly stripped Charlie of her skin. She closed her eyes and hunched up until it passed. Thankfully, it didn't blow her away._

_The Wanderer approached her at a languid pace. _**He Is To Be Sent Back, Little One. It Is Time For You To Go As Well. You Do Not Belong Here.**

_Charlie nodded absently, eyes still fixed on Castiel. Something glowed on his left wrist - a mark of some kind she couldn't identify from this angle, but she became distracted when the Angel tilted his head in a familiar way that made Charlie smile. He was listening to something. When he saw the Wanderer by her side, Castiel turned to watch her in silence. She couldn't look away._

_It wasn't until the Wanderer broke her line of sight with his great muzzle, that she finally broke her gaze. "Will I remember any of this?"_

**Perhaps.**

_Charlie pursed her lips in annoyance, though the feeling was faint here. The Wanderer chuckled once more, and touched his muzzle to her, nose strangely cold and wet. Beyond the initial contact, Charlie could feel a fur so soft that couldn't possibly exist. She could only manage to wave a brief goodbye to Castiel before she vanished. He hummed at her curiously. The last thing she saw was the Angel tilting his head at her in curiosity, large hand coming up in an attempt at copying her gesture._

* * *

"S'cuse me, but you're in our booth."

"Mason."

"What? She is, though."

"We know that, stupid."

"She's clearly troubled."

"Well she can fuck off and be troubled somewhere else. This is our booth."

"Mason!"

"What? Ow, Roxy! That hurt!"

Charlie groaned, scrunching her face in the direction of the unexpected voices. Too loud. Too many smells. Too much cold and heat and bright - too sensitive - and _too too much._

_My head, _she lamented. It was killing her. Her mouth was ridiculously dry. Her skin was on fire. _Too much._

Gradually, her senses adapted, dulling everything around her to normal. The sound of other murmuring voices reached her ears, and the smell of breakfast foods and coffee separated slightly, making her nose twitch. Her stomach gurgled unpleasantly, nausea causing her throat to itch and her tastebuds to tingle. She shivered.

"Sweetheart, are you alright?" It was a melodious voice, soft and kind, with an undercurrent of apathy.

Charlie grunted. _Stupid question._ Her neck felt cramped and twisted. Turning her head slowly away from the light around her to press into a – she squinted an eye open – faintly glowing table, Charlie held in the yelp that want to escape from her creaking muscles. _Why is the table glowing? And scratched?_

"What's going on?" This voice was new, and not entirely unwelcome, if the authority in it spelled some relief from the ruder man wanting to get rid of her.

"There's a fucked up woman at our table – Ow! Roxy!"

"Then you move somewhere else. Act like a gentlemen once in a while. It won't kill you."

"It might," came the grumbling reply. "Again."

Charlie sighed, waving an arm in their direction. "S'fine. I'm moving anyway." With an enormous effort, she pushed herself up straight, immediately regretting it. Her stomach did a little jolt. Charlie swallowed, and willed the nausea away. It wasn't working. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end. Squinting towards the little group of mismatched people, Charlie had to blink when her vision swam. It was almost as if her brain was trying to catch up to everything before it decided to go into full headache. Everything was glowing or scratched. _What_ \- _No. One thing at a time._ "Bathroom?"

The dark skinned cop jerked a thumb at the back by the counter. Charlie quickly slid out of the booth, a young blonde woman leaping out of her way when she strode in the direction she was given.

She made it just on time for her – thankfully empty – stomach to heave bile into the nearest toilet. A few minutes later, Charlie was rinsing her mouth and washing her hands, only to wince at her pale reflection - _God, I look like Hell_. Her skin was whiter than the surrounding tile, and her hair was short. Very short. And spiked everywhere like she'd run a balloon over it and lit the ends on fire. No more bob - "What the fuck happened to my hair?"

It took a moment, or two, or three, but Charlie finally realized that something else wasn't right. Stomach now settled and appearance now assessed, she took stock of the weird glowy-ness of everything around her. Scratches, deep and shallow, angular and curved, and glowing - she _really_ needed to think of a better word (_blazing? shining? pulsing? luminous? yes - luminous. Fucking luminous. Colored in whites, reds, blues, yellows or, for the odd one - completely and utterly dull gray._). It looked almost like Kieran's place, only on a smaller, more detailed scale. Each tile, piece of porcelain, tap - any object she could see, really - had a some sort of _motif _engraved into it.

_God's code_, came Kieran's distant voice.

"Oh fuck no," she muttered, glaring at everything. It was _writing_. Patterns and etchings and language - and there came the headache.

_What the hell happened to me?_

Staring at her reflection, her mind blanked. Nothing. There was no code on her. No markings, no identifying weirdness. Nothing. Closing her eyes, Charlie tried to think. Only, again, nothing.

Confused, and a little alarmed, Charlie quietly rinsed her mouth again in a daze, tried to flatten her hair with some water, and wandered out of the bathroom.

Another dark-skinned woman stopped by her side, proffering a coffee pot. "You ok, sweety? Can I get you anything?"

Charlie blinked at her (swirling code drifted lazily across the woman's skin like a projector image), flicking her gaze down the nametag of the waitress. _Kiffany._ Jesus, even the nametag had code, only it was fixed like the tiles and floor and tables and - "Uh, water please, Kiffany. Thank you," she said.

"Sure thing, hun. Have a seat. I'll bring it to you."

Charlie nodded, drifting away with no particular urge to sit anywhere specific.

"So what happened to you?"

Charlie stopped, finding herself in front of the mismatched people again. They had the motifs too, but theirs moved like a stream of water through mud in comparison to Kiffany's river-like speed. These ones pulsed faintly. Charlie made a strange noise in the back of her throat, and rubbed her eyes tiredly. Dragging her palms down her face, she risked a closer look at the group. They really _were_ an odd bunch; a young woman, perhaps a teenager, a lanky scruffy man, a dolled up blonde, a surly female cop, and a brooding man with dark eyebrows who was looking at her with a strange expression. Charlie wondered what she looked like to them. Probably crazy. Also, his fashion sense was _awful._ It was the teenager who'd spoken. "I think I died," she said simply, voice muffled against her fingers. She blew out a breath and dropped her hands to her sides.

It was the truth, and Charlie figured if they didn't believe her, they would take it as a joke. The infinitesimal surprise they tried to hide was not what she was expecting. Kiffany came back and handed her a glass of water. "Thanks." She drank it in several, quick gulps. "Could I have another please?" she asked, wiping the back of her hand across her mouth. "If you have a pitcher, that would be great. I've had a bit of a rough… night. I think."

Eyebrows raised, but managing to keep a polite and professional expression, Kiffany nodded and vanished to get more. Good woman.

"Rough night, huh?" the cop asked. Charlie, having turned her head to talk to Kiffany, paused in turning back around. There was something... off, about the lot of them, outside of the already strange new script on their skin. In her peripherals, they looked like different people. Same clothes, same skin color and demeanor, but different body types and faces.

"You could say that," she finally responded, not knowing how to approach her vision issue any more. _This is so fucked up._ _Maybe I hit my head?_ It would explain the throbbing and amnesia. Maybe the weird glowy stuff, too?

The last thing she remembered was watching Castiel being blown apart in Chuck's house.

Charlie nearly dropped her glass at the blinding pain lancing across her forehead at the thought of the Angel. Grimacing, she felt her mind skitter away before she could wonder what it was, and focused on the latter part of the thought. Chuck's house. The pain dulled. Well, she wasn't in Chuck's house now. _Please don't let this be another coffee shop thing. _Blinking to dispel the rest of the throb, Charlie asked, "Where am I?"

"Der Waffle Hous," the lanky one replied. He laughed. "You really don't know where you are? What did you _do_ last night? And if you have any left over - "

The teenager elbowed him sharply in the ribs. He winced, and rubbed the area, but stayed silent.

"I died," Charlie repeated absently, looking around the diner to take it in. It was a nice place. All wood and squeaking leather. Almost homey - oh.

Her barriers were down. The bunch of people and Kiffany had looked fairly normal, and the new glowy - _luminescent_ \- feature had distracted her, so she had missed it.

Everyone in the diner came into focus, colored auras bright and clear. A Ghost drifted outside the main window, following a young woman. There was a dark-haired woman in the corner with a shifting face, dark hues distorting her features. Charlie could see a simmering, monstrous anger there, directed at a five year old boy that could be the woman's son. Potential child abuser? Perhaps. Charlie had seen it before. Hell, she'd experienced it herself. An Orb drifted by, spherical and pulsing, hovering over the child. The mother's darkness faded in its presence, and her aura returned to normal. The spherical phenomenon was unusual, and Charlie had only ever seen a handful in her lifetime.

A noise caught her attention. Charlie gripped her glass tightly. In an empty booth near the front door, were four purple-gray ugly things that looked like fucked up Gremlins. She diverted her attention quickly back to something safer before they saw her scrutiny. She didn't remember ever seeing their kind before. Looking back to the lanky man, she silently wondered why this was happening. This wasn't a normal barrier breach. She was going mad. Or something had affected her. Or maybe wherever she'd been had been so horrible, she had brought something back. "Where's The Waffle House?" She was proud to find her voice was steady, even fairly casual.

"Der Waffle Haus," the blonde one corrected. "And it's in Seattle."

"Seriously, though. You died?" Lanky one again.

"Yes. Who are you?"

"Mason."

"Right."

"And who are you?"

"Charlie."

"Well, it's nice to meet you, Charlie," the teenager said, pursing her lips to one side. "I'm George."

"I'm Daisy. Daisy Adair," the blonde one offered, holding out a manicured hand. Her smile was polite, but false, as if she forced this persona every day. Charlie shook her hand anyway.

The cop looked reluctant, rolling her eyes, before saying, "Roxy."

Charlie glanced at the last man. He was still looking at her, his expression more intense now. She held still under his scrutiny. She had a feeling this one was the one with the authority over their little group, despite the aggressive cop. "I'm not liking this conversation," he said at last, giving her a go-fuck-off-somewhere-and-stop-bothering-us-please smile.

_I'm not fucking surprised_, she thought. Charlie engaged his dark stare for a few moments, only breaking it when Kiffany showed up with her water. Kiffany's aura - now that she finally noticed it - was wonderfully soothing. Charlie tried to relax. "Thank you." Pitcher in hand, she inclined her head to the man, turning away to take a seat in the next booth. It was away from them, technically, but she would still be able to hear their conversation, and she would be able to keep her head down while she processed what was going on. _If_ she could process what was going on. Charlie chose a seat where she could see the back of Mason's head, and, should he move, the intense man's face. She poured herself a glass of water and waited. Maybe their conversation and some time would jog her memory.

From the hushed murmurs and aborted sentences, they were obviously trying to be discreet about their subject of talk. They ate breakfast. George complained a bit about her family, Mason complained about a lot, Roxy complained about Mason complaining, Daisy sighed several times as if she was above it all, and the man seemed annoyed by all of them and complained about the complaining ruining his breakfast. Finally, with their meal nearly over, and Charlie halfway through her pitcher – _why the hell am I so thirsty?_ – the head man gave them assignments. This was followed by more complaining from Mason, and a hasty goodbye from Daisy, the young woman claiming hers was only twenty minutes away but on the other side of town. George slid out to let Mason go, and slid back in to finish her breakfast while the others left.

Charlie watched George tilt her head back and to the side. "I wanna know more, Charlie. Come 'round and sit with us."

"George," the man warned.

"Oh relax, Rube. The shit's hit the fan lately, she might be able to tell us what's up."

The man – Rube – was scowling harshly when George stood up the let Charlie slide into the corner. Her jeans made it awkward, and Charlie finally realised she was in black denims, sandy colored boots without any socks, and a black tank top with a light tan blazer. She wiggled her toes as Rube spoke, wondering why they felt gritty. Again, the odd pain crept along her forehead, less severe this time, but equally confusing.

"You don't know that, Peanut. What have I told you about assuming?"

"It makes an ass out of you and – mostly – me," she recited dutifully, sounding like she didn't give a fuck either way.

"Peanut – "

"Rube," she copied, raising her eyebrows in a challenge. Charlie got the impression this happened a lot.

"I'm good at keeping secrets," she offered, hoping normal conversation would ground her to something. She could feel a familiar itch under her skin that always told her to keep moving. To not be where she was. "I'll tell you mine, if you tell me yours." It was a long shot, but there was something about these people Charlie immediately connected with, and she had a feeling it was right up her dank alleyway of supernatural.

"Take a risk, Rube. There's something up that upper management isn't telling us."

"If we needed to know, we would know."

"Bullshit."

Charlie sighed, and jumped right in, hoping it wouldn't backfire. "I'm a Hunter."

They froze. George was the first to speak, sending her an incredulous look. "Well, shit. I wasn't expecting that."

"Neither was I," Rube admitted quietly, dark eyes doing a full sweep of what he could see of her. Charlie fiddled with her now empty glass. She was reluctant to fill it again, should it disturb his scrutiny.

She took a breath. "What are you?"

George barked a laugh. "Well, whadda'ya know, a twofer." She sent an impressed look towards Rube, but the man frowned, hunching further over the table, fingers locking together. His stare was intense. "Can I tell her?" Rube said nothing, so George took it as permission. "We're Reapers."

Charlie frowned, looking at the teenager. Only, now that she was looking closely, she could see an older woman in those eyes. "I've never seen Reapers like you before. You look Human."

They both frowned at that. Rube was the one to speak first, and Charlie held back her surprise. "We are Human. Or, rather, we used to be. Before we died." He tilted his head in contemplation. "You see Reapers for what they are?"

Charlie nodded. "Yeah. You in particular look different if I turn my head a certain way, though I don't know why. But no Other underneath, just another Human." _And that you look like a glowy, tattooed guy in a floral shirt but I don't think you see that._

"We look different to outsiders," George answered. "Saves people recognizing us after we die."

It made sense she supposed. "I've never heard of that before."

"We're a separate division," Rube answered absently. He looked like he was debating something. "I think we need to talk."

"Alright."

He turned to George, one thick eyebrow raising pointedly. "Don't you have work, Peanut?"

"My Reap's not until eight tonight." He raised the other eyebrow. "Oh, c'mon, Rube. You wouldn't have talked to her if it wasn't for me."

"George," he warned.

The girl sighed. "Fine." She grabbed her bag, tossed some money on the table and left with a parting, "You're totally telling me what happened later, though! I mean it!"

Rube sighed, leaning back to dig out his wallet from a pocket of his jeans. Slipping out some cash, he placed it on the table with the cheque. Gathering his newspaper and a small journal stuffed with yellow post-its, he slid out of the booth. "Follow me. We'll head to my place. I have a feeling we've a lot to talk about."

* * *

_A/N: I hope you recognise Dead Like Me because if you don't, I recommend you watch it as I couldn't help put in a bit of a crossover there and it's an amazing series (even though it's short). I hope you enjoy the slight turn off the path of SPN. Had to go a bit original here with some personal headcanon. ZeB xxx_


	14. The Devil's in the Details

"_I'm not sure this is a world I belong in anymore. I'm not sure that I want to wake up." _

― _Gayle Forman_

**14\. The Devil's in the details.**

_**Date: Unknown.**_

_**Location: Seattle.**_

The walk to Rube's was a constant barrage of childhood nightmares. Outside of the discomforting unfamiliarity of the etchings on every surface and living being, Demons were the most prominent Other, along with Ghosts, Shapeshifters, Reapers, Familiars, Orbs, Wraiths, and things for which Charlie had no name.

Charlie could only think that _all_ of her barriers were gone entirely, even ones she wasn't aware she'd had.

Swallowing, and carefully trying to focus on the pavement and not the blisters from her sandy shoes, Charlie made a request. "This may sound strange, but I would really like it if you acted like I was blind right now."

Rube, who had been quiet and watching people give Charlie strange looks, frowned. "I beg your pardon?"

"Act like I'm blind. Lead me." She placed a hand on his shoulder and stared ahead. He let her.

"Why?"

Lips dry and skin tingling, Charlie answered softly, "Reapers aren't the only thing I see."

Now Rube began to look nervous, glancing around at strangers walking by. "What else is out there?"

"You don't want to know. Just keep walking, please."

He did so, but not before he gave her a long, calculating look she could see out of the corner of her eye. Charlie didn't care. She had played this game far too many times when her barriers broke down. Thankfully, she had been with family every time it had happened previously.

They made it to his apartment block and took the stairs at Charlie's adamant insistence. There was a strange, warped energy hanging around the elevator like a fading mist. Unable to gauge it, Charlie gave it a wide berth.

However, when they got to Rube's floor, the mist hung in a trail to his door from the elevator, and no further. Uneasy in its presence (though it didn't seem active in any way), Charlie focused on her breathing, and stepped in and to one side as soon as Rube opened the door.

"You're sweating," Rube commented, closing his door with exaggerated care, as if prepared to leave or shove her out if she did anything funny.

Charlie leaned against the wall with her eyes closed, skin clammy, and pulse racing. "What the hell comes to your door?"

There was a heavy silence. She opened her eyes to see Rube staring blankly at her. "How could you know something like that?"

Charlie frowned at him. "Please just answer the question. What comes to your door?"

"Upper management."

She squinted at him. "And what's that?"

He looked like he'd never had a conversation like this before, and Charlie thought that maybe he hadn't. _Who would?_ He cleared his throat and squinted right back. "A higher division of Reaper."

Charlie liked this answer. It wasn't something completely unknown, at least. That was better than what her mind was coming up with. She nodded, letting her shoulders relax a fraction. "What do they do?"

He gestured to a desk full of neatly organised paperwork. There was an envelope with the same residue that hovered around the elevator. "They leave a list of souls to be Reaped. We make sure the souls aren't left attached and send them on their way."

Charlie sighed, her body finally, slowly, easing away the tension. She nodded. "Okay. That's okay."

Rube remained silent for another moment. He looked a bit more at ease now that she had accepted his explanation, but there was still a wariness in his gaze. "Would you like some breakfast?"

Charlie hesitated. "I - yes, alright."

Running a damp hand through her hair, Charlie was startled when she encountered the different length. Damn, she'd forgotten. Looking around, at a loss when Rube walked away, she took in the warm reds and browns. Rube moved around with an unfamiliar tranquility she would have associated with Buddhists in the small space. There was a set up a of tiny white cooker in the corner. He turned it on, retrieved a pan, and went to the fridge to pull out milk, eggs, and bacon. She would have expected the place to reflect his fashion style, but no. He was the most mismatched thing in the room: wearing a yellow shirt with flowers, khaki trousers, and a pair of worn white sneakers. She absently wondered if he'd mind if she took off her shoes to check her skin, but she wasn't sure what state her feet were in. She might ruin his carpet, and he'd kick her out, and she be left out there with those things - she cleared her throat carefully. "Nice place."

"Thank you. Your tone suggests a hint of surprise, but I'll accept your words as I'm sure they were genuinely intended." He glanced up with an affable smirk, before opening the bacon. "I take it you are not a vegetarian, and/or vegan, since you haven't turned your nose up at the presence of meat."

Charlie frowned bemusedly. She watched him gently peel apart the meat, before laying it onto the hot pan. The strange writing was _even on the bacon_. "Uh, no." Charlie tried to shove her hands into her jean pockets, but was caught off kilter when she realized how shallow they were. She huffed, wondering how she had ended up in tight jeans. Not her style at all. She could feel her face scrunching up in consternation.

Charlie gave up and looked back up at him. "Don't go to too much trouble on my account. Anything is fine. Even toast." Maybe especially toast. Or maybe the loaf had the writing, too.

Once he put the bread in the toaster (it did have script on it, and so did the toaster - everything. It was on everything. It was like a bad LSD trip, or the first time she'd gone through electroshock therapy. The room had torn apart at the corners like paper, and the doctors and nurses had melted in the heat of Hell when the floor had opened up - _stop stop stop don't think of that it wasn't real it wasn't real stop!),_ he began to cook with a flourish born of experience. Something Charlie never had a flare for, Martha often told her. Charlie rubbed her face because her brain was starting to hurt.

"I went unfulfilled this morning," Rube continued, turning over the bacon. "Whining attitudes tend to put me off my food, so I am offering to cook enough for us both, since you didn't partake in Der Waffle Haus' fine cuisine."

He smiled at her, a bland expression with a hint of sincerity. She wondered if the sincerity stemmed from his love of the food, and not for the love of potential conversations with strangers. Charlie didn't think he encountered people who knew what he was, so this had to be something very different from his usual experiences. Charlie was unsure of how to respond to his generosity beyond "Thank you."

"You are most welcome." He gestured with a spatula across the room. "Please, have a seat. I think we have some things to discuss."

Charlie did so. The couch was soft, but it still felt new. Unused, perhaps, by more than one person. She settled with her hands on her lap, fingers tapping and foot itchy. She was in an unfamiliar place with a man - a Reaper - she didn't know, with no weapons to hand. Her barriers were once again shot to Hell, and she had been missing for who knew how long with no idea what was going on or where to go from there. At least, not without more information. In the ensuing silence, Charlie kept her eyes surreptitiously on Rube.

A few minutes passed. Wriggling her toes in her boots, she again wondered at the grittiness. _Where the hell have I been? I may, or may not, have died. Everything, even the toaster and the carpet on the floor, has writing on it. I'm seeing things I've never seen before. I'm alive and in Seattle with no idea how I got here or what happened - _Charlie frowned. _Is this the same thing that took me before when I ended up in Oklahoma? _Again, without more information, she wasn't going to get far. She took a breath. "Even though I am technically your guest, I have a feeling the privilege is yours for first questions."

Rube hummed noncommittally, slipping the bacon onto a plate covered in paper towel to make room for the eggs and soak up some of the grease. A crack. _Sizzle_. He glanced up, pursing his lips. "I suppose jumping straight to it is impolite," he mused. "I've never believed everything is as straight forward as it seems, and I was never one to pry into things I really didn't need to know. You'll have to forgive my rudeness."

Charlie waited. He did strike her as a man that kept his head low unless it affected him directly. Even then, it would depend on how it affected him; a neutral party that waited for the outcome so he could find the safest point to escape to live his life. She waited for his first question, anxiously thumbing the seam on her jeans with her right hand.

"Do you know today's date?"

Charlie blinked. Searched her memory. Her foot stopped shifting. Her hands stilled. "No."

He nodded, gesturing to the pan to see how she liked her eggs. Charlie shrugged in deference. He continued, "I figured you might not, based on your behaviour at the diner. Do you know how you got here?"

"No."

"That frightens you."

Charlie scrutinized his expression carefully. It was polite, inquiring, and curious. "It makes me uneasy, yes," she answered. _Obviously._

"Frightens you more than it would someone else," he observed.

Charlie licked her lips. "Why do you say that?"

"Well, you're telling me you see things. Things I can't see. You knew someone came to my door. When you came out of the bathroom back at the diner, you looked… terrified isn't really the word, but it was something. Something that worried you." He raised a thick eyebrow. "You saw the Gravelings."

"What's a Graveling?"

Rube hummed. The toaster popped. He explained briefly what Gravelings were and what they did. He described purple, knobbly creatures with teeth and a bad attitude that lived in cemeteries and set up circumstances for a person to die, like a uneven stool, or walking under an air conditioner, or even a leak on the floor near open electrics. Charlie sagged into the chair, eyebrows high.

He buttered the toast, holding up a strawberry jam jar towards her in offer. Charlie shook her head. Rube nodded, but slathered a fair amount on one of his own slices before cutting them all diagonally. "What's the last thing you remember?"

"Castiel," was the first thing to come out of her mouth. And that was right, she thought. "I was in a house with an Angel. Castiel."

Rube was watching her carefully. He plated the food and sat on an armchair beside her. "What happened?"

Thinking about it caused the pain to return, though it was duller. Frowning in concentration, Charlie tried to piece together the most recent images in her head. Her face cleared, and then it went slack in shock. "I think he blew up," she said softly. Castiel was gone. Dead. _If he is, then what happened to me?_ "Or the house did. Or we both did. The house, too. It's gone, I think. ...He's gone."

The dull ache became sharper when she tried harder to remember what happened _after_. A nudge of the edge of the plate at her hands snapped her out of it. Accepting it with a wince at the heat, Charlie let the thoughts dissolve. Remembering everything right now wasn't an option, apparently. He handed her a knife and fork, but she just stared at everything there on her lap.

"So that's why you think you died," he surmised, delicately making a half-sandwich of his second breakfast.

Charlie eyed the bacon and eggs, runny and wobbly. Suddenly, she didn't feel hungry any more. "I must have. No other explanation."

"Doesn't explain how you're not dead now, though. Or how you got here. Where was the house?"

She raised her eyes to him, feeling a little dazed. "True. And Kripke's Hollow, in Newton, Iowa."

There were a few minutes of silence while he ate. Charlie just stared at her plate, sorry that she wasn't in the mood to eat it. He had made the effort, after all. Rube finished, watching her with a frown. "What are you? How can you see what you see?"

Charlie allowed a small grimace at his question. Resigned, she explained as much as she could. She'd had the curse since childhood to see certain things, etcetera. He looked dubious, but she had known things she couldn't have possibly known.

He took her plate without a word and rose to put it aside in the kitchenette. He then began washing his own. "How long ago did you 'die' in that house?"

"I don't know. Around the middle of May, I think."

"It's only been a few weeks, then. That's a start." He wiped his hands on a towel and sat beside her again. His expression was changing as he regarded her. He looked resigned, and ready to expect nothing in answer for what he said next. "Do you have any idea what's going on in the world?"

Charlie slowly felt her body tense up. A lot of things began to click together. She had 'died', come back, and his and George's words came back to her from the diner. Something had happened. Castiel had sent Dean off to find and stop his brother from breaking the last Seal. Lucifer had been on the verge of rising, but nothing about Rube's demeanor gave her the notion that it had worked. _How much does Rube know? What side is he on?_ There were far too many unknowns for her comfort right now.

"Depends on what's going on," Charlie answered carefully, wary now of how large he was in comparison to her. He was also a Reaper, and she didn't know if her own skills would be enough if he struck out at her.

Rube frowned, freezing in the motions of fiddling with the towel. "I didn't think a good answer was going to come out, but a cryptic one like that is a bit odd."

Charlie tilted her head, watching for cues that he'd harm her. "I haven't been here to know what's going on out there, but if your attitude towards this conversation is at all telling, I'd wager something's happened that no one likes."

"That's an understatement."

There was a heavy silence between them. She was beginning to understand that Rube was a person who had both a finite, and an infinite amount of patience, when the situation called for either. She relented with a sigh. "I had some... friends, that were trying to stop the Apocalypse. Or rather, more immediately, trying to stop Lucifer rising."

He blinked, narrowed his eyes to assess her level of truthfulness, and then sighed. The tension in him vanished. "You're probably not gonna like what I have to tell you, cupcake."

* * *

_**Date: Beginning of June, 2009.**_

_**Location: On a bus, leaving Seattle.**_

Charlie slumped down in her seat, knees pressed firmly against the back of another. The nine year old kid sitting in it had turned to face her with a scowl, but she stuck out her tongue at him. His mother had scolded him to sit still while the bus pulled out of the depot, and he did so, but not without a return gesture she couldn't help but smirk at.

Once out on the main road, Charlie slipped on a pair of sunglasses she'd pilfered off a rude man who had been shouting at a woman behind a ticket counter. The older woman had looked exhausted, clothes wrinkled from the days work, and her previously subdued ire was starting to show when the man loudly demanded ridiculous things, like the supposed fact that it was somehow her fault that he had missed the last bus to get home to his wife. There had been no need for it, and Charlie had exhausted her own reserves of patience, so she had politely told the man to fuck off and sit down because she was next in line, or to go somewhere else before the woman called someone to sort him out. He'd turned his anger to her then, but Charlie had already taken his sunglasses from his pocket, and had ignored him to get her ticket. Stealing from assholes didn't violate her moral code.

Thankfully (and very generously), Rube had given Charlie some money to get her across a couple of States by bus. He'd also thrown in a bit to spare for food.

The sun was beginning to set, but the rays were still strong enough to irritate her already pounding skull. She'd conversed with Rube for an hour after he had told her of the boys failure, before she had decided to get herself organized and home to Martha and the others. He had graciously (Charlie was starting to think of making everything Rube did into a tally to repay later) allowed her to rest at his place. Charlie had slept for two hours, and she had spent the rest of the time in mediation to try and repair her broken defenses. The affair wore her thin, but it worked. Her walls were firmly restored, including the new addition the keep the Matrix shit at bay.

The bus rocked over a pothole. Charlie scowled, bringing her elbow up to the little edge of the window. Supporting her head with her hand, she closed her eyes and thought back over the past two days. They had failed. Big time. Considering how fucked up everything had seemed when she… blew up… or whatever, Charlie shouldn't have been surprised. Lucifer was awake, free, and having a ball of a time somewhere in the world. Everyone probably thought she was dead. Charlie sighed.

Having no idea what was going on without talking to her family or another trustworthy Hunter, Charlie didn't want to start calling people out of the blue if they expected her to be no longer in the land of the living. If anything had happened to them - she really didn't want to think about that possibility - she wanted to have an element of surprise before she got herself in too much trouble to help.

Right now, her best bet was to hit Reno. Her stash of shit per bus terminal only extended a few States from home, so she had nothing this side of the country except some of the possible contacts she had established over the years. Unfortunately, she wouldn't make it to Reno without help (Rube's money wouldn't stretch that far, and Charlie couldn't bring herself to ask to ask for more than he had given), and there was only one she thought might aid her at this juncture between here and there.

Sighing, Charlie tried not to bemoan the horribleness of her life right now. She may have nothing in Reno, but that didn't mean Reno had nothing. It was a start.

A crinkle reached her ears. Opening one eye, Charlie found a flat, round lollipop held in front of her face. Lifting her head, Charlie hooked a finger on the side of her shades and pulled them down a bit. Following the small hand up, she found the nine year old watching her, hand outstretched with the green treat in her face. She blinked, raising an eyebrow at the kid. He had a red one in his other hand, glistening with saliva. She took the one he offered.

"I'm Charlie," the kid said, holding out his now free hand. Biting back a smile, Charlie grasped his and shook it firmly. Kid had a good grip.

"Nice to meet you, Charlie. I'm Charlie."

The boy blinked, and then grinned. "Cool."

Charlie laughed, opening the wrapper. Apple. Her favorite.

"Good choice, kid."

* * *

_**Date: Beginning of June, 2009.**_

_**Location: Quincy, California.**_

Charlie ran low on money by the time she crossed into California. Standing in an old payphone booth down by a petrol station just outside Quincy, she tried to think how to take the next step. All this messing around without plans or direction had her entirely out of sorts. Everything was too unpredictable; the traffic, the people around her, the weather… She could walk into a town and find Lucifer himself, but she wouldn't have a clue. She had change enough left for one phone call, but it had been a long time since she'd talked to him. She didn't even remember his number. At a loss, she tapped the payphone with one of her last few coins, the metallic sound echoing off the glass walls. With a blustering sigh, she decided her only option was to ring the police station with the hope that Walt was still stationed there.

"Quincy Police Department, how can I help you?" It was a woman's voice. She sounded friendly enough, if a little haggard. _Finally,_ Charlie thought, _now we're getting somewhere. _

"Hi. My name is Charlie Crivens. I need to speak to a Sheriff Walt Perry, if he's available."

The response was automatic. "What's the nature of the call?"

"I'm an old friend. He should know my name."

A small sigh. "Please hold."

* * *

Charlie glanced up at the approaching sound of a car pulling in towards her. A patrol car. It whined to a stop in front of her, a cloud of dust billowing forward in its wake. It covered the car and coated her clothes (she needed a change anyway, she thought, shaking her head). Leaning forward, she squinted in drivers side. The window rolled down revealing Walt. She scowled. He looked exactly the same as she'd last seen him: rotund, thinning hair, and a large nose. A bland, tan cop uniform was stretched around his frame, Sheriff's insignia clear on the darker jacket.

"I asked you to send a cab, Walt," Charlie admonished, resting her hands on the edge of the door.

"Nonsense," he said, waving dismissively. "It was quiet, and we're only a few miles away if the boys need me. Get in. I haven't seen you since you were here with your momma to help out with that Ghost problem. How long is it now?"

Charlie pursed her lips. Martha had brought her along on a few Hunts to get the feel of starting to branch out on her own, and this part was practically famous for Ghosts due to the Bartlett incident. Any time that Martha had brought Charlie with her this far East, their cover was often just a mother and daughter passing through on a roadtrip. "Too long. It's been a while since I've come this way."

"Well, c'mon. Get in and you can tell me what you've been up to."

With a nod, Charlie rounded the front to climb in. She had just closed the door when a voice in the back spoke unexpectedly. "Still up to no good, Crivens?"

Startled, Charlie craned her neck to see the faint blue Ghost-figure of Milton fucking Dammers in all his - dead? - glory in the back seat. "Holy shit. What the fuck happened to you, Milton?"

Walt cleared his throat, eyeing her out of his peripherals, but this wasn't his first rodeo. He'd worked with Frank Bannister after all. Poor Frank had been a wreck of a man after his wife died some years back, suffering a massive breakdown. He was blamed for his wife's death after he had drunkenly careened off a road and down a small lip of a cliff. His car had been totaled, but his near death experience had left him with the ability to see Ghost's. Unable to cope with anything normal any more, he had embraced the lifestyle of 'hunting' Ghosts to make a quick buck. No one had believed he could really see them, or that they were his friends in on a con until an abnormal Poltergeist started wreaking havoc on the town and Frank became the unseen hero.

Walt sighed. "Got his head blown off with a shotgun."

Charlie grimaced in sympathy. _Jesus._ She glanced between them while fastening her seatbelt, watching Dammers in the rear view mirror as Walt pulled out onto the road. Dammers folded his arms and sulked. "I still think Bannister put her up to it." He jutted his jaw to one side and glared out the window.

Charlie shook her head. She didn't know who 'her' was, but he always blamed everyone but himself. There was no way Frank had encouraged someone to blow off another person's head. Even if it was Milton. "What a way to go," she murmured instead. "You're a fucked up guy, Milton, but I wouldn't have wished that on you. Not your fault that they always sent you off on the shit cases."

He scoffed, turning his blue-cold glare to her. "I don't need your pity," he spat. "I make no associations with your kind. Bad enough Bannister got away with everything he did, but Hunters! Ha! Force has no idea how bad it is with that little well kept secret."

Charlie didn't get to answer him. Walt did instead. "Some do."

Charlie's eyebrows shot up. "You can hear him?"

Walt rolled his eyes. They were coming into the town proper now, and heading towards the station. "Unfortunately, yes. Had a close call last year with a store theft gone bad. Shot to the shoulder, but banged my head on a damn shelf and split my skull. Woke up and could see – " He jerked his thumb at Dammers, " – the likes of him. Would have preferred not knowing, if I'm honest. He never shuts up, and refuses to pass on every time the damn corridor of light comes for him. No idea why."

"I have unfinished business!" came the angry reply. Dammers leaned forward, inadvertently breathing his ice cold breath along Walt's neck and ear. Walt scrunched up his face and tried to pull away while keeping his eyes on the road.

"Dammit, don't do that!"

Dammers scowled, but sat back a bit. He sent a sulking glare to Charlie. "Unfinished business," he repeated.

"And what's that?" she asked, though not unkindly. Milton was a borderline insane individual - always had been - but again, it wasn't the man's fault. He had the unfortunate skills necessary to blend with the crazies, and the force had taken full advantage of it. He'd been wired and focused on his job before they sent him into the land of the loons, and all that focus turned to paranoia and obsessive compulsive disorder. She had always felt his anxiety oozing out like oil whenever she had to deal with him on cases in the area in the past. It infected everything he did. After a few years, Charlie had handed over the jobs to another Hunter and washed her hands of it all. Martha had done the same.

And now he was dead, and no less fucked up than he had been alive.

"I'm investigating."

Walt huffed a laugh, shaking his head. "He always says that, but anytime someone manages to pin him down long enough to ask him what it is he's investigating, he goes off on one of his weird mumbling tangents. We've stopped asking unless it has to do with our jurisdiction."

Dammers growled, but otherwise kept silent. Charlie mused on that as they pulled into a parking spot. They got out and walked inside. Walt stopped at the main desk and handed Charlie a note. "Frank's number. Called him already. He's around, and he should be here soon." Charlie took it with a nod of thanks. Walt leaned close (she had forgotten that he was the same height as her, having grown accustomed to her tall family and the time spent around Sam, Dean, and Castiel), an eye watching Dammers standing off to the side lost in thought. Milton, despite his invisible nature, gave the occasional mutter or sneer at other officers if they passed by too closely. "I wouldn't mind you taking him off my hands for a bit, if you could manage." He sent her a pleading look. Charlie could only blink at the waft of coffee and strawberry coming off his breath. Still on the donuts. "He drives me nuts, and I really need to get some paperwork done this afternoon."

Charlie raised an eyebrow, but sighed. "Alright. As long as Frank doesn't mind."

"Excellent. You're a life saver, Charlie." He patted her shoulder. "Take a donut for the road. Oh and there's coffee over there if you – "

"She doesn't drink coffee, Sheriff. I'm surprised you don't remember." Dammers presence at her left shoulder was ice cold. Charlie cringed at the sensation but allowed him to shadow her. _Why can I feel that?_

"Christ, Milton! How the hell am I supposed to remember that?" Walt raised his hands to forestall whatever it was that wanted to come out of Milton's mouth and turned away. "Nevermind. Rhetorical question. I'll see you around, Charlie."

"Bye, Walt. I'll call or drop in later if I have the time to catch up."

He waved in acknowledgment before disappearing into his office. Charlie turned to Dammers. "Ok, Milton. You have the pleasant job of accompanying me for a bit. If Frank doesn't mind too much, obviously. You can tell me how you two know each other, and then you can tell me what you're investigating."

He narrowed his dark eyes at her in suspicion, and she wondered if her intuition was right. The Apocalypse was happening, Lucifer was free, and anything Milton Dammers was investigating had to be of some importance to her world of supernatural. He pursed his lips. She raised an eyebrow, recalling that, even in life, he had looked just as beady, sweaty, and pale. Finally nodding at whatever he'd gotten from her expression, he folded his arms. "Very well. But if Bannister has issues, _you're _dealing with him. Not me. Insufferable."

He started talking.

* * *

_**Date: Beginning of June, 2009.**_

_**Location: Quincy, California - Frank and Lucy's house - guest bedroom.**_

Charlie stared at the off-white ceiling of the room. It was quiet and dark, save a dim glow through the window from Frank's back garden lights. She breathed out slowly, watching her breath cloud upwards. Milton sulked by the window, oblivious to how his presence affected the room. The brief reintroduction of Ghosts into her life on a personal level seemed to have reset Charlie's temperature gauge; The cold barely touched her. _Thankfully. I don't know how people stand it._

Frank had been delighted to see her, if a bit worried as to why she was there. She had told him as much as she was able, but he had already figured that something big was happening. He had assembled a few of the Ghosts around the town into a sort of community watch in case anything terrible came their way.

Dinner had been lovely. Lucy, his partner, was wonderful. She had accepted Charlie with open arms, having heard the stories from Frank about Martha and some of the cases the woman had worked nearby. They had recounted the Bartlett incident, and Charlie regaled them with some horror stories of her own.

After dinner, Charlie had approached the subject of asking Frank for help getting to Reno. Frank was happy to give her money to get there, and he welcomed her back anytime she wanted. She had thanked them and promised to keep in touch after it all blew over, but all she needed for the next few days was money, some spare clothes, and a place to sleep for the night. They'd shown her to the guest bedroom, where Milton had stayed all evening due to Frank's indifference at his presence, and Lucy's ire when he kept interfering with dinner. The former FBI agent had freaked Lucy out long ago, and the favor had been returned when he'd fled the kitchen with his hands over his ears to block out her shouting as if it was a siren's wail. _Some things never change, even in death_, Charlie thought.

Unable to sleep, Charlie turned her head towards Milton. "Tell me about your investigation."

He shifted from foot to foot for a moment. Charlie wondered why Ghost's had the remnants of human physicalities. He looked restless. He began telling her about news articles he had come across around town reporting the deaths of people in Nevada. The police had decided they were unconnected; the age range was vast, and the people had nothing in common. Some looked like natural deaths, others murder, and one with sacrificial undertones.

Milton had only heard about the recent increase in them with Lucifer's arrival, but when he ventured further by bothering Walt to help him look at older articles, Milton found something that looked ordinary from a normal persons view, but abnormal to his own. At first, there was no distinguishable pattern to the deaths themselves, but the wounds matched those of a cult that Milton had encountered several years before. Satanic worship and the like. "The usual insanity that plagues the Human Race," Milton said, curling his lip in disgust. He'd indirectly managed to disband it, but the remaining literature often still made an impression with those of a more sinister nature, or those too idiotic to see sense. At first he thought they were copy cats, but when the wounds were found to match the cult directly, he suspected some members had started up again. They had appeared random and spaced apart for years after the disbandment, until suddenly they weren't.

Over time, Milton had begun to piece together that half the deaths were related to Satanic sacrifices by individuals, but, when he inquired more about it from some of the older Ghosts in the graveyard, he found the other half of the deaths had several inconsistencies that didn't add up with his theories.

Men and women of varying ages were dying in strange ways. A paranoid - and now dead - Milton Dammers, found that they were unnatural deaths with a common theme: a sacrificial marking on the back of the neck beneath the hairline, invisible to the living, but a bright beacon to the dead: some sort of spell that he couldn't identify. If he had still been a member of the living, and if he hadn't known of Hunters, he would have believed it to be just cultish following and playing dangerous games. Satanic rituals were a hit and miss with most people. They often made mistakes, but every so often there are one or two who get it right, with _real_ magic the result.

"Not really my expertise," he muttered, sending a knowing, disgruntled look her way.

Charlie, without knowing more from the others, could only speculate the reasons for it. It could actually be Demons messing around with the Boss from downstairs, or it could be punks trying their luck. It didn't explain the past few years, unless it had been the cult at first and was now something else.

Charlie turned onto her side, suddenly exhausted. "We can try and check it out when we get to Reno. Someone there might have a better idea of what it is."

"I want to come with you."

Charlie sighed at his tone. It was petulant, but determined. "That's not an easy thing you ask, Milton. You know what'll happen if you leave the area."

He scowled, striding over to lean forward. Inches from her cheek; his tactic was typically to bully her. Too bad she wasn't intimidated by him. "When I was assigned here, my plan was not to remain. Get me out of here, Ms. Crivens. Do whatever you have to do, get to Reno, find out more, and then you can get rid of me."

Charlie closed her eyes, waving him away. Her hand passed right through him, harmlessly. She pursed her lips. "We'll have to get you something to bind you if you're coming with me, Milton. I'll need something so I have a time frame for you going Poltergeist."

Dammers stood straight abruptly, stalking back over to the window in silence. He had never really understood what Hunters did, despite his own expertise in the paranormal. His beliefs only went so far. Spellwork and the supernatural world Charlie came from was vastly different from what normal society perceived. He had to walk the line of rational-in-irrational situations so he wasn't seen as insane and sent off to a funhouse. Charlie understood that, but having grown up with other Hunters in that world, everything she did made sense to her. He would have to just do what she said, which would make him all kinds of angry and uncomfortable.

There was a small, secretly pleased part of Charlie at the thought that he would have to embrace her world now after so long denying it.

Dammers stayed by the window as she began to drift off, frowning down at the town through the glass. It was known only to a select few outside of Quincy that it was a haven for Ghosts. An ancient spell covered a few miles on all sides, somehow preventing Ghosts from needing a material object to tether them to the mortal plane. This, in turn, allowed them to roam freely without consequences, including keeping their sanity where most would turn, like her grandmother had. Ghosts normally looked like a solid version of their previous selves. Here, Ghosts had a blue translucency that marked them as different.

They were an accepted oddity that the town kept secret. If more people knew about how Ghosts existed here, Quincy would be overrun with mourning people unwilling to let their loved ones go. Not everyone knew, of course, considering most of the town couldn't see the Ghosts, but supernatural occurrences were common. If Milton left the town, he'd have a finite amount of time before he changed, and Milton being Milton, he'd probably change quicker than most. His paranoia was legendary. If she could bind him to something material before they left, she might be able to keep him around should anything suspicious happen. Yes, he was an asshole, but he was damn handy for noticing patterns and being aware of his surroundings. He would give her a fair warning before things took a sour turn.

"I'm sure Bannister has something," he finally said. Glancing at her, he added, "At least I'll be able to leave this pestilent place."

Charlie rolled her eyes beneath closed eyelids, turning over. She needed sleep. They had a long trip ahead of them. "Just so you have a heads up," she murmured, "if you so much as show an inkling of change? I'm burning your ass out."

Dammers scoffed, but said nothing.

"I'm serious, Milton," she added, faced mashed into the soft pillow. Lucy had given her some pajamas, and a spare set of clothes that were a smidge too long, and too tight (Lucy was a rather tall, slender woman), for tomorrow. "I'm not dealing with your bullshit if you go even crazier than you are now. I mean it."

* * *

_A/N: Ok, if you haven't seen The Frightener's, I'm sorry since this is a minute cross over here. I haven't planned any more past this though so far, but I urge you to watch the movie if you haven't because it's one of my favs and is one of the most fantastic films of all time for supernatural lovers!_

_I took me a little time to decide on where I wanted Kripke's Hollow to be since I can't find a reference for where the writers had in mind so suburban Iowa it is!_

_I hope this chapter made sense, and I apologise for the lateness of it and for any spelling or grammar mistakes I missed. I also hope it makes sense as it starts to drift into a bit of original territory here for Charlie since the boys are busy fighting Lou right now._

_I think that's everything! I hope you enjoy and I love you guys for sticking with me with follows, favs, reviews and comments! You're all fab!_

_ZeB xx_


	15. Loss of Self

"_There are moments in life when it is all turned inside out-what is real becomes unreal, what is unreal becomes tangible, and all your level-headed efforts to keep a tight ontological control are rendered silly and indulgent." ― __Aleksandar Hemon_

**15\. Loss of self.**

_**Date:Unknown.**_

_**Location: Unknown.**_

Red.

Everything was _red._

On her hands. On her clothes. On the floor. In the sink.

Charlie felt a strange, drugged sort of calm. Blank. Numb. Muzzy. She looked up from the sink to see her reflection in the shattered bathroom mirror. She blinked, slowly. The right side of her face was covered in thick, congealed blood, nearly black. It seemed to have stemmed from a large gash above her eye, bisecting her eyebrow to half way up her forehead. It didn't hurt, but it looked deep and vicious.

_It needs stitches_, she thought absently. Blood was smeared down her face and neck, blotched into her collar. _Am I having an episode? _She didn't think so. Everything was bright and scattered, moving like a static lightning across her vision.

Looking away, Charlie began noticing the crimson smears along her arms like claw marks, just below the pulled up sleeves of her jacket. Her hands were covered by a black pair of gloves, leather slick, and not hers. The water in the sink before her was a dark scarlet. The soap was sunken in the center over the plughole, barely distinguishable in the murky water. A large kitchen knife sat on the lip beside the tap, gleaming red.

A presence entered the room. "You need to get out of here," came a familiar voice. A dull ache began behind her eyes. Charlie closed them until it passed; she opened them again to find the room had lost its static quality. Black and white tiles, stylish, clean... No, not clean. Not any more. _What's-black-and-white-and-red-all-over?_ She blinked. _I'm losing my mind. _"_Now_, Charlie." Dammers. It was Milton Dammers, and he sounded strangely subdued. Turning her head to look at him, she watched him glance furtively between herself and the bathroom door. With every movement, she could feel the blood drying, pulling on the hair of her arms.

_How did I get here?_ Charlie nodded, dazedly. She turned back to stare at the water. _Where is here?_

"Clean yourself up as much as you can. They might find something. Do your best. _Quickly_."

_Who?_ _Who would find something? _Charlie did as she was told, driven by his urgency. Washing her hands (keeping the gloves on), and then her face, Charlie took out the soap to release the water in the sink, and wiped down as much as possible in the bathroom. _Blood shows though, doesn't it? No matter what you do. _When she was finished, she automatically picked up the knife and walked out. The scene was like walking through a watery, silent, movie. The house was quiet. She passed a room, glancing in to see a small girl, about eight years old. Blonde. Slight. Wearing Transformer Pajamas. She looked asleep; half sprawled under the covers on her stomach, her neck twisted at an awkward angle.

_Snapped. It was quick. I know it was quick. I made sure._

Charlie swallowed. Her skin was cold. She only knew because the hot tears burned her cheeks; a reaction of the overflow of emotion she couldn't fully feel. Her body was weeping in silence. Her mind hadn't caught up yet. _Not yet. Not yet. Wait. Patience. Think about it too much and you'll go mad. What have you done Charlie?_ Down along the stairs there were a few blood spatters on the walls. Past the stairs, turn right. The mother on the living room floor. _Suffocated_, Charlie thought, remembering surprising the woman from behind, arm wrapped around her throat until she'd fallen limp without a sound.

_Didn't feel it much. She didn't know the horror I had already committed upstairs. No sorrow to be felt at the loss of a child. It was all I could spare her._

Through the kitchen to the back door. There, the father lay. The source of the blood, aside from her own, his throat slit neatly. A flash of memory; the large man, enraged from seeing his wife and child dead after coming home from work, launching himself towards her. Charlie leaning backwards just on time for the knife come up in a wide arc to miss her eye, but it caught her brow. She had disarmed him swiftly, turning as he stumbled to let the knife slide smoothly across his neck with his own momentum and weight.

_Deep enough to sever the nerves. Deep enough to bleed out quickly. As little pain as possible... but the sorrow was already there. He'd seen. He saw what I had taken from him. What I did._

The area was quiet at this time of night. Without conscious effort, Charlie turned towards the side entrance and walked out, knife secured in the back of her jeans under the dark jacket that belonged to Lucy. She remembered that, at least. The blood on the blade was nearly dry and becoming flaky, but it was important to keep. So important. _Why, though? _The father had been the only one that was supposed to die. The family following in his wake had been to ease the grief that would follow.

Dammers trailed behind her silently, head turning back and forth to keep watch.

_What have I done?_

* * *

Charlie walked for an hour, exiting the residential estate to stride along a dark main road. About ten minutes outside of the estate, there was an old, dark red, dusty pickup truck. _Well that's the creepy cherry on top of everything else_, she thought. The door unlocked with a heavy sound, and Charlie climbed into the passenger seat (struggling with herself mentally, but ultimately unable to do a thing about it). Dammers ascended through the bed of the truck into the middle of seat without a word. He watched Charlie for a moment, and then resolutely kept his eyes on the driver.

She focused on Milton's presence, left hand pressed through his thigh, binding ring snug on her thumb. He was with her. She wasn't alone. Distantly, Charlie expected her body to be going through panic, through the fight or flight adrenaline surge, struggling against her companion - just _doing something _\- but her heart rate never increased, her lungs didn't strain for air. Something was so very, very wrong. She had no control; a passenger in her own body.

Sensing her distraught, Dammers did what he did best. He may have been used to oddities in the world, but he wasn't used to the excessive world of Hunting, so he just talked. This was new territory for him, but he had given his word that he would travel with her until he was satisfied enough to pass on. He began to describe the driver, Charlie unable to get a decent look at the man in the dark.

"Approximately sixty two years old. Greying hair and thick beard, with worn jeans and plaid overlying shirt, covering a stained blue shirt beneath. Tan boots. His hygiene leaves a lot to be desired, but he has no defining tattoos or markings that I can discern. No immediate threatening display apparent either, but he doesn't look too friendly. His silence is telling." His voice turned shrewd and calculating. "This is a job he's doing. Be on your guard Miss. Crivens. This man is bringing you to someone else."

Charlie wanted to tell him to interfere, to distract the man and drive them off the road, to save her, to help her, but her mouth refused to co-operate, her body refused to move. Helpless, Charlie concentrated on Milton's words. The gruff man said nothing, oblivious, simply putting the vehicle in gear and pulling out onto the road, slowly. He only turned on the lights once they had been travelling for several long minutes. _He wants to remain unseen. _

She had murdered a family, a strange man was bringing her to someone, and fuck if she knew what lay ahead. Charlie stared out of the windshield blankly, the street lights sweeping over the shoddy interior in long, regular intervals.

_Think._ She had been in Reno with Dammers. They had been in a casino waiting on a Hunter to meet up with them. The Hunter had a shop nearby, he said, and was willing to trade something with her for weapons and information. Dammers had been complaining about the noise and filth when... nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Until that bathroom. That house.

_What have I done?_

* * *

Off the main road, onto a dirt road and a bit of travel for several minutes, and there was a house. The stranger swung a wide turn into it. Charlie tried to stay calm. _This is not a movie. There's no way this is going to end in a cliché rape and murder scene. No. Just, no_. Dammers stuck to her as if he was alive, trying to remain a barrier between her and the driver. He may be a paranoid asshole at times, but at heart, he was still a Fed trying to get to the bottom of a case. And they'd bonded, somewhat, over the journey to Reno.

They stopped, breaks whining slightly. The house was dark ahead of them, looking abandoned, but there was a woman illuminated on the porch by the headlights.

She waved in a way that Charlie could only describe as cheerful. Fucking _cheerful_: a wide smile and bright teeth shining from many feet away.

Jogging down the steps, she beamed again at the man who was rolling down the window. The man smiled in return. "Well, hiya Henry! How you been keepin'?"

"Right well, Sadie. Brought the woman, just like Jane asked me. Walked right into the truck," he added, nodding satisfactorily.

"Well, bonus, Henry. It's obviously workin' fine. Let her out, I'll get her cleaned up, and we'll head over to _Kenny's Bar_ for a couple. Jane's waitin'."

The man – Henry – swiped some of his thinning hair off his forehead with a large hand, shutting off the truck with the other. He turned towards Charlie, who was suddenly able to move. Dammers gave a blue tint to everything, but she could see now how young the girl was, leaning down to wave happily at Charlie through the window. She only looked about eighteen. "Doors unlocked," he said roughly. "You'd best get movin'."

It was like a weird backwards country western. Maybe she _was_ in a movie. Or unconscious. Or dead and in Hell. She would feel better if it was Hell. At least she would _know_.

Charlie wanted to hesitate. She wanted to get out and run. She wanted to wake up. What she did was _obey_. Sliding out of the bay, she closed the door quietly, willing Dammers to keep up with her. He seemed to understand without prompting, passing through the hood to meet her on her walk around the front towards the house. Sadie appeared by her side, linking arms with her like they were friends. They were roughly the same height, Sadie being a little taller. "I had a lovely outfit picked out for you, did you know, Charlie? But Jane wants subtle, so I had to scrap a wonderful blue cotton dress. Kept the leather jacket, though. Can't go wrong with a leather jacket."

Sadie smiled at her. Charlie, unable to do anything else, ascended the porch stairs as if she'd lived here before. She couldn't see a thing, but her body seemed to know the drill. Sadie swung the screen door wide, and pushed in the main door, where faint light spilled through the crack. Charlie was confused for a moment, until she realized that the house was, in fact, disused, but Sadie had a small set-up in the living room. A lantern cast a warm glow on a low coffee table, blocked by black-out curtains on the windows.

"Jane's been waitin' quite a little while for you, but you vanished for a bit. I can't wait for that story." She dragged Charlie over to the couch, but left her standing there. Pulling out dark blue jeans, sandy boots, underwear, and a black t-shirt from a small suitcase, she handed them to Charlie. Charlie accepted them automatically. Sadie shooed her away. "Go wash and change, darlin'."

Charlie moved away to a bathroom just off the hall. Inside was a simple shampoo and body wash arrangement on a little carved out ledge in the shower. She stripped, showered, and dressed in the new clothes. The shampoo stung like a motherfucker on her wound. Her legs were beginning to show hair growth (she had come back from the dead clean-shaven, weirdly enough). The jeans were a little big around the waist, and the boots were heavier than she was expecting. Flattening down her short, wet hair, she exited the bathroom without looking in a mirror and came back into the living room.

"Well, you clean up nice," Sadie said, teeth now shadowed against the dim light. Hands on her hips, her expression fell when her eyes travelled up to Charlie's forehead. "Now that won't do. Can't have you lookin' like that for Jane. Sit. I'll get the First Aid kit." She disappeared to somewhere in the back of the house.

Charlie sat on the couch. Dammers, having been swiftly taking stock of the house, strode back to her side. He crouched, face scrunched up, uncomfortable in their current accommodations. "There's no one else around. The house has only been occupied for a day or so. The man – Henry – is still outside, the truck quiet. They're obviously bringing you somewhere else, but I can't determine why or what's wrong with you. Dammit, Charlie, you're better at this than me. Snap out of it!"

Charlie shook her head, throat constricting at the thought of speaking to him. Now able to move to some extent, she glanced down at her ring.

Dammers squinted in thought. "A spell?"

She nodded slowly. Had to be. Or else Angels or Demons, but she hadn't seen anything abnormal since she'd come to. No energies, no grotesque faces... just Humans. She kind of thought that made it worse. Humans were an unknown. She had no idea what they wanted from her, or why she had killed that family. Charlie's eyes fluttered at the images flashing across her eyes. She had never killed innocents before. Her eyes watered, and her nose stung, but she forced it away. Now was not the time to fall apart. She would remain as patient and calm as possible, at least until she knew more.

Sadie appeared silently. It made Charlie tense. Even Milton hadn't expected such stealth from the young girl. She pulled a coffee table closer to the couch, opening the First Aid kit to sit beside her hip. Looking up, she smiled. "Hold still. This might sting a bit." She proceeded to clean the cut, numb it, and stitch it. Charlie watched her through all of it. Sadie was fair featured. Round in the face. Her long dirty blonde hair brought out the blue in her eyes and softened her pale skin. She was delicate, careful, and graceful in her movements. Old fashioned, almost. Like a Southern Belle of the early twentieth century. A young lady with a peach dress that went down to her knees and flat peach shoes with a bow near the toe.

Charlie thought of Beth and Martha, of Bobby, and Dean, and Sam. She thought of Castiel, only to get a headache for her trouble.

She thought of Milton sitting beside her, studying Sadie like it would give him all the answers he needed to get them out of here. Charlie was grateful for his company. She willed the ring to stay safe. Whatever was going on, she didn't think she'd survive it on her own.

* * *

_Kenny's_ was a dive bar. It was old, well worn in by the locals (wherever she was), and dark. A jukebox crooned out in one corner, playing a song she couldn't pick out among the murmuring patrons. She thought it might have been classic rock.

Sadie, having linked her arms with Charlie once more, bounced on her toes to wave at a woman across the bar in a booth. The woman waved back, a little more subdued than her friend. "There's our Jane. You go over. I'll get us a drink."

Charlie obeyed with a frown. Sadie flounced up to the bar, and Milton trailed in Charlie's shadow. Sliding into the booth, she rested her hands flat on the table to stare at the woman. She was about thirty, dark red hair with some highlights Charlie could just pick out in the dim light. She was dressed like a biker and covered in tattoos and piercings, including two rings in the center of her bottom lip and one in her left eyebrow. There was a Black Widow spider perched on a web in ink on her neck, and she wore a chain necklace with a little Devil pendant. Dark purple eye shadow and red lipstick enhanced her already angular features, and she was very thin. If there was an opposite of Sadie, it was Jane.

"Hello, Charlie," she intoned, a lip curling up in a smirk. She toyed with the edge of her glass of beer, arm and elbow resting on the damp wood of the table. Her bracelets jangled when she leaned forward to say, "Do you know me?"

Charlie frowned. Searching her memory, she tried to pick out anyone significant in her life that would have turned into this woman. Nothing came to mind.

"Well?" A perfectly groomed eyebrow arched upwards.

Charlie narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips.

Jane released a sudden laugh. "Of course! How silly of me. I'd forgotten." She snapped her fingers and a tingling sensation itched at Charlie's throat. "You can speak now."

"You're a Witch," Charlie said calmly, watching the woman carefully for a reaction to her assumption. So, she _had_ been spelled.

Jane's smirk turned a little hard. She tutted. "That's very rude not to answer my question, Charlie girl."

"I don't know you," Charlie responded, surprised by the strength of the compulsion to make her speak. Those words had been in her head, but she had made no effort to say them.

"That's better. But, no? You don't?" Jane leaned back lazily, arm rising to perch on the back of the seat. "I suppose you wouldn't know. My name is Jane Jones – yes, my parents were so inventive," she added with a roll of her eyes. Shaking her head, she continued. "Does JJ sound right?"

Charlie only knew one JJ. "JJTrickster, from that Apocalypse forum."

She grinned. "Well done."

"What do you want with me?"

Jane looked a little put out at her change of subject. "What? No surprise? No questions about how I found you? Or why you?"

Charlie sighed silently, keeping her gaze fixed on the woman. Yes, she had all those questions, but if all this theatrical drama was supposed to impress her or put her off balance, Jane had a lot to learn. Charlie had been spelled before - she had essentially _died_ about a week ago - and she had met Angels and Demons. Lucifer was free for God's sake. There was a bigger picture. Charlie sent an apology to Cas, wincing at the pain once more. She had given him grief for that phrasing what seemed like so long ago now. No, the only thing that bothered her enough to make her conscience skitter for cover was that Jane had gotten her to murder a family, and she still didn't know why.

Now that she thought about it, Charlie couldn't remember what she'd done with the knife. _Why had it been important? _"I'm sure if you were going to tell me, you would. Are you going to start monologue-ing about your life and what led you to this, etcetera, etcetera? If you are, I hope you don't mind if I ask for the short version."

"Good girl," Milton said firmly.

Jane didn't seem to know what to do with that. She blinked at Charlie, a small frown creasing her glabella. Charlie raised an eyebrow and waited. Sadie returned with a smile, placing down a glass of something pink and a pint of beer. Looking from one to the other, her expression began to falter at the hard silence. "Um. The beer is for you, Charlie. I figured you might be a pint of lager type of woman."

Charlie ignored her. Jane stared at her. Suddenly, Jane looked away, seeming lost in thought. "Drink the beer," she said simply.

Charlie felt the compulsion again, and drank. It tasted funny. She set down the glass after a few gulps and sighed. What was the point of trying to 'subtly' spike the drink if they were ordering her to do stuff anyway? She began to see holes in everything now. The confident demeanor, the off-putting journey, the meet and greet with Miss Sadie-anti-depressant, and the meeting in the dark bar. Milton grunted when she began to list to one side, her vision blurring at the edges.

_Fucking amateurs._

* * *

_A/N: I apologise for the delay in updating. Life drags ya down and sucks the energy out of you and suddenly weeks have passed and you've accomplished little. Here's to more updates! Cheers! - ZeB xx_


	16. What do you do after you die?

"_I must get my soul back from you; I am killing my flesh without it." _

― _Sylvia Plath_

**16\. What do you do after you die?**

_**Date: End of June, 2009.**_

_**Location: Preston, Idaho – The Martin's Residence.**_

"Wow."

Charlie, panting in exertion from avoiding the death blow from a baseball bat, glared at Sadie. The ridiculous girl tilted her head at the man's - now dead - body in the kitchen. _Another one in the kitchen, _Charlie thought. A small smile curved one side of Sadie's mouth. She looked serene, despite the long splash of blood along her torso, ruining her blue dress. She had decided to take the wife. A spectacular failure, in Charlie's opinion. Sadie was unpractised, but eager, which made for a sloppy technique. Charlie had been forced to take over, an unwilling obligation of protection flaring up for the younger woman. _Fucking _spells_._

"You're very graceful in combat, Charlie. A natural." Sadie allowed her smile to widen when she looked at Charlie. 'Deranged' was the first word to pop into Charlie's head. _She looks deranged, and out of touch with reality. _"Jane will be so pleased. You're more than we ever thought you could be."

Charlie bared her teeth at the girl, but turned away when Sadie stepped forward to drain the body for the ritual. It took a lot of shallow breathing and fresh air outside to stem her need to throw up.

* * *

_**Date: Beginning of July, 2009.**_

_**Location: Junction, Utah.**_

"Bring the little girl to the center of the circle. Hold her still."

* * *

_**Date: Mid July, 2009.**_

_**Location: Flagstaff, Arizona.**_

The man's head lolled back into Charlie's stomach, her sure grip cupping his chin to hold him steady against her. Tied to the chair as he was, there would be very little struggle, especially after Jane had Sadie and Henry beat the man to near death in an effort to find where he'd hidden the sacrificial collectors' knife.

He'd given them the answer when Jane ordered Charlie to track down his wife and child. They were dead at his feet, and Charlie now wielded the blade for a new ritual. Sadie held a carved wooden bowl beneath Charlie's hand, right in the suprasternal notch of the man's throat. The girl was smiling.

He gurgled when Charlie passed the blade across his skin in a swift move. She tried to communicate how sorry she was when she met his dying gaze, tipped up to face the ceiling, but he stared blankly. It was all she could offer him; there was no need to die seeing the mutilated corpses of his family. Although, she wasn't sure staring at the person who had killed them was any better.

* * *

_**Date: End of July, 2009.**_

_**Location: Clayton, New Mexico.**_

"Distract them and meet us three miles west of the motel."

Charlie stared at Jane incredulously. She held out an aching arm - covered in an old brown duster coat that was too large on her frame - towards the window outside the motel where there were two trucks full of Satanic fans outside. Horns were honking, and voices were calling out to them cheerfully. "That's a joke, right?"

Jane smiled as if it was. "No. We don't need the hassle."

"They have guns," Charlie pointed out, as if Jane couldn't possibly have forgotten this.

"So do you."

"Right. Except there's just one of me."

She tutted. "We know better than that now, don't we? Besides, they know who you are." Jane smiled again, hoisting a full duffle bag through the back window of the bathroom. Sadie caught it on the other side, and snuck away to Henry's truck, where he and Kirsty waited with the engine on idle for their getaway. "You're a rock star, now. They adore you." She moved her arms as if to encompass the room. Charlie wasn't impressed with the run down shoddy building in bumfuck New Mexico. "Look at the good you do." She patted Charlie's arm and scrunched her body out of the opening, sending a wave behind her as she walked to the others. "Three miles west Charlie. Teleport if you have to. I'll have a spell waiting."

She was gone. The voices got louder. The air grew thicker with heat and oppression. Charlie stood in the middle of the crappy motel room, carpet thin and frayed beneath her boots, with the stagnant smells of body odor and stale cigar smoke creeping into her lungs. She gritted her teeth in frustration. "God damn motherfucking _Hell_!" she spat, turning on her heel towards the bed. Grabbing up her shotgun, she marched to the door. A wide, sharp jerk swung it open. It banged against the wall. The assholes outside cheered, and she could pick out some hippie-goth-types with beer and rock signs. With a sneer, she nudged the gun up into a sure grip, pumped, and aimed. "Leave or die! Make it quick."

* * *

_**Location: Colorado Springs, Colorado.**_

_**Location: Casper, Wyoming.**_

_**Location: Billings, Montana. **__I'm so close to home. So close. She fucking lives here. Martha lives here. Let me go let me go LET ME GO!_

_**Location: Rapid City, South Dakota. **__Bobby. God, where is Bobby? Find me. Help me. Please._

_**Location: Scottsbluff, Nebraska.**_

_**Location: Topeka, Kansas.**_

_**Location: Wichita, Kansas.**_

Charlie ate.

Slept.

Bathed and dressed.

Charlie protected.

Charlie obeyed.

Charlie suffered crippling nightmares.

She had cried, once, until there was nothing left.

Each day, Charlie was becoming more and more desensitized.

Numb.

Blank.

A cracked shell.

She was losing herself.

And there was no one to find her.

* * *

_**Date: End of August, 2009.**_

_**Location: Oklahoma – a motel.**_

Three months.

Jane had kept her tethered, with her and her little gang, for three months.

There were four of them; Jane, Henry, Sadie, and Kirsty. And now Charlie. Dammers was gone. She'd had to cut him loose when the ring had gotten damaged after two weeks into the nightmare that was now her life. Charlie could only hope his paranoia eased in the afterlife.

After Charlie had passed out from the spiked beer, she had woken up in a basement in what turned out to be – of all places - Carson City, and Jane had explained what she had wanted from Charlie. Apparently, Charlie had been an interesting blip on her magical radar. Jane had sources. They explained to Jane that Charlie was a unique individual in that she could be traced back to a First descendant.

Charlie vowed to pay a visit to Kieran Hennessy and have a nice chat about keeping his Goddamn mouth shut. When Jane had found Charlie on that forum, she had been practicing new spells for coercion in preparation for Lucifer's rising. She had decided on a whim to try one out on Charlie.

Charlie realized that it was the cause of the little fiasco of her missing few weeks some time back. The spell had been shaken off when Charlie hit the border of Nevada, and Jane had no idea why. In an effort to find out more, Jane had sent one of her people to check out some more sources, which lead them to Kieran. The topic had 'somehow' come up about Charlie, which lead to Firsts, and it went downhill from there.

When she tried the spell again, she had gotten nothing at all. Jane expressed an aggravated curiosity about Charlie's ability to actively shrug off magic, and Charlie tried very hard not to let her expression show her confusion at that as well. She hadn't known that was even possible. Magic had always been a problem for Charlie, but how could she will magic to not work? She had no idea.

In an effort to combat the strange phenomenon, JJ – _Jane_ \- had devised that for any long term spell to have effect, they would have to mark Charlie's skin with incantations and ruins, hence why they had spiked her beer. Easier to have her unconscious during the procedure.

They had placed the spells along her sides, arms, spine, and legs, like a strange sort of stick figure from behind. _Puppetry._ If Jane gave an order, the spells would burn in tandem as a warning to Charlie to do what she was told. Charlie had felt nothing but fury, revulsion, and a deep sense of violation for several weeks. The emotions dulled to a low simmer however, when Jane had Charlie continually carry out her rituals. It was hard to feel much after having her hands covered in the blood of children more than once.

Jane wanted her to utilize her possible First abilities to aid in helping them gain favor with the Devil himself. They sacrificed and conducted rituals in nearly every State from Nevada to Oklahoma (so far) in an effort to appease or entice (Charlie wasn't really sure _what_ they wanted from him) the being. She often wondered if they actually grasped the concept of what Lucifer was. It didn't seem like it. _How do people ever think sacrificing Humans to a fallen Angel will gain them his favor?_ He'd fallen because he had refused to bow down before them. It was like an owner bringing a dead animal to its cat, expecting the cat to understand that it had to go out of its way to show them that they could do it. They failed to realize the 'cat' was an avid Hunter of Humanity already.

When word got out about Jane's activities (sacrificing and looking for Lucifer), the disturbed people who were of the same mind began to follow. Jane had unwillingly made a name for herself, but she wasn't interested in forming a group larger than the five she had now. Charlie suspected Jane was an only child, not used to sharing anything. After watching them for the first two and a half weeks of her nightmare, Charlie decided to nickname Jane's collection of irrational people 'Lucy Groupies': a small group of people that traveled to find the best seats in the house for Lucifer's subsequent taking over of the world. Jane 'employed' Charlie to keep them one step ahead of their followers where possible, along with the job of protector, soldier, Hunter, ritual master, and pet.

Charlie had no choice but to obey her 'Master' and 'Owner'. She remained silent unless specifically told she could speak freely. She ate, slept, drank, dressed, and bathed at Sadie's insistence. Jane gave her the important jobs. Henry provided transportation and old connections to keep them under the police radar. Kirsty, who was the same age as Sadie, and acted like Charlie was her big sister, was always looking for advice, playing jokes, and just generally talking about nonsense.

They were crazy. Genuine nutjobs in need of a mental hospital.

Jane had tried to make her use her gifts, but Charlie nearly faded every single time. Using the rifts - or teleporting as Jane often called it - was a common request. She had only succeeded once from one point in a field to another, but she collapsed with no memory of what had happened. Transporting herself was dangerous. Transporting five people was suicide.

A car passed by the motel window, its lights trailing a wide column along the walls. Jane was working on an old, faded map behind Charlie at the table with Henry, scribbling a ballpoint pen across its surface to make out their next target. Kirsty and Sadie had gone out for food. Charlie was to keep an eye out for them. All she wanted to do was get away and sleep. Being with these people was beginning to wear on her severely. She was exhausted all the time. Her body ached from her constant struggles with the victims Jane chose; each one had to be in their prime and perfect for the sacrifices, which meant more work for Charlie in taking them down. Her eyebrow was now a thick scar, bisecting the hairs in a bald patch. She'd broken her arm, a rib, sliced open her leg, and always had some collection of bruises on various parts of her body. Jane, being a Witch, was insistent on the worst injuries being healed by magic. After that, it was irrelevant. She was functional, and 'pain was a good focus'.

Charlie's heart felt heavy. She was murdering innocent people. Every time she came back from a sacrifice, she had more blood on her hands. She scrubbed at her skin in the shower until it was raw, dry, and cracked. Her hair was growing out, and if Sadie didn't force her to sit until the young girl brushed it, it would be turning into a spiked, twisted mess. She was losing weight, and it wasn't something to celebrate. She only ate because they forced her to. She only bathed because they forced her. She only ever did _anything_ because they forced her.

Looking out into the damp night through the grimy window, Charlie saw Sadie and Kirsty approach at a jog, laughing at something. She thought of her family again. Of Sam and Dean, Beth, Bobby, and Martha. She thought of Cas, but again, the pain flared across her brow. She welcomed it, even if she didn't understand it. She had tried to pray to him, to call out for him, but he was dead. Dead and gone, and she was alone among monsters.

* * *

They shouldn't have come to Oklahoma. Charlie had woken up in the middle of the night feeling funny: dizzy and nauseous, aches and pains everywhere like she had the flu, a numb sensation along the markings on her skin. More alarming had been the sudden decrease in the compulsion to obey Jane. Normally, she would have welcomed the change, but Jane always seemed to be hyper aware of anything, like the possible fading of the spells.

Charlie had also felt like leaving, only it wasn't _her_ conscious decision to do so. It was more like a faint idea in the back of her mind. She had gotten up (Jane insisted she stay dressed where possible should they need a quick escape from trouble) to leave the motel to get a bus on the main road. Jane had woken at the door closing, and had followed her out as quickly as possible. Disturbed at Jane's panic and growing ire at the lack of control, Charlie could only continue. By the time they arrived in front of a house, just as the sun broke over the horizon, Jane had figured out it was another spell countering her own.

_No shit_.

Charlie didn't think her life could have gotten any worse, but when a woman stepped out with a stern expression at Jane, and a satisfied nod at Charlie, introducing herself as Avanna Calvary - the very same Ava Charlie had conversed with on the computer, Charlie began to wish she'd stayed dead.

* * *

_**Date: End of August, 2009 - several minutes later.**_

_**Location: Oklahoma - Ava's house. Kitchen.**_

Ava was Jane's perfect nutjob counterpart. Instead of worshipping Lucifer, the older woman worshipped God – which was almost worse, in Charlie's opinion. This kind of thinking lead people to think they were doing _good things_, when they really, really weren't.

Ava's house was immaculate, simple, and very floral. Religious icons dotted the place wherever she looked. Ava had politely asked both Charlie and Jane to come in for some tea, as if it was the normal thing to do in these situations. Maybe it was.

Charlie stared into the cup of milky liquid, the fine china thin and brittle, sitting on a saucer in the cup of her palm. It had a garish picture of Jesus on it. A tiny teaspoon lay in the curve on one side. The wooden chair - pulled out slightly away from the tiny kitchen table - with cushioned floral covers was unrelenting on her aching body.

_How is this my life?_

"I don't know who you think you are," Jane said simply, the hard tone of her voice hidden beneath a neutral expression. "But I laid claim to Charlie first, so if it's all the same to you, she's staying with me."

Charlie looked up to see Ava smile tightly. The woman curled her fingers around a lock of hair, brushing it behind her ear in a deliberate gesture of calm. She was an older woman. Charlie suspected her user name with the number fifty eight in it was her actual age. She had long, thin, graying hair down to her shoulders, framing hard lines along her features that bespoke of many years of pinched expressions, and wore very comfortable clothes better suited to an unfashionable elderly woman of seventy: long pleated skirt, a blouse, and a cardigan, all in varying shades of bland colors.

Charlie's first uncharitable thought (she justified it as fair game after everything she had been through lately) had been 'spinster'. Carefully making sure the women weren't paying much attention to her, Charlie surreptitiously started looking for cats.

"My dear," Ava began, placing her cup down with a small clink on her saucer - God forbid it left a ring on the table - "Your entire life is a Sin against the Lord above. What makes you think I'll just let you take one of His greatest potential weapons?"

There was a tense silence. Charlie placed her tea on the table with deliberate care. "I'm not a weapon," she said with quiet certainty.

Ava turned to look at her. She smiled. It was entirely unpleasant. "Of course you are, Charlie. The Angels themselves told me about you. They heard rumors about an abnormal woman that could be used for greater good, and I had to exorcise a Demon with my own hands to get a spell to find you. You are a bright spark among the Sinning Corpses of this world. Your gifts must be utilized properly, and, in order to do so, it must be a messenger of the Lord to take you towards that path."

"And you would be the messenger?" Jane asked disbelievingly.

"Yes."

Jane laughed derisively. When Charlie had first met her, back in that bar, she had known a lot of Jane's bluster was false. Jane hadn't known what to expect from Charlie. The Witch had set goals, and she had drawn up detailed plans. Her confidence in them faltered when she actually _met_ Charlie. Her bravado failed, and she began to have doubts. Over the three months of success, the 'confident' Jane that greeted Charlie had become a reality. She was Jane Jones, thirty two year old woman from Carson City, a Witch who controlled a First. There was no way some old bitch was going to take that away from her.

Charlie tried to stand, but the compulsion from the two spells kept her grounded where she was. Behind Jane, a rift opened, and for a brief moment, Charlie felt an unexpected jolt of hope in her gut at the thought that it could be Cas.

It wasn't. The Angel that appeared was like a livewire. He was short, about Charlie's height, with dark red hair slicked back, and dark eyes that sparked in his rapid assessment of the room. He wore a simple cut gray suit with a navy tie and white shirt. His Grace buzzed around his small form like electricity, and his wings, though small, were brown, narrow and sleek. Spotting Jane, he snapped out a hand to clamp onto her shoulder. Jane shrieked, trying to jump up from her seat and pull away. He yanked her back, pinning her to the back of the chair, his essence snaking around her, forming chains to keep her still.

Ava didn't even bat an eye at the exchange. Instead, she picked up her tea and sipped. "JJ, meet Hashmal." She cupped her palms around the cup to let the heat seep into her skin. Leaning forward to rest her elbows on the table, she tilted her head. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to assert some authority here. Hashmal?" The Angel looked up at her, his vessels body utterly still in his task, but his energy and wings restless. "If you are able, could you please break JJ's spell on Charlie?"

He nodded, waving a hand through the air. Bright white pain lanced through Charlie's skin, arcing through the line of spells like she'd fallen out of a moving car and scraped along the asphalt on her back. Jane's runes, markings, and spell work sliced away. Choking, Charlie arched her back, hands flying out and knocking the teacup off the table to smash on the tiled floor. The chair tipped dangerously. Her mouth opened in a silent scream, and then it was over. The legs thumped harshly on the tiles with her sudden, gasping collapse. It was hard to breathe.

"Thank you, dear." She looked back at Jane. "Goodbye, Jane. Pray that we don't meet again."

Jane vanished with Hashmal. Ava turned to Charlie, studying her hunched over, shaking form. "I can't let God's weapon go to waste. You will be bound to me now, and you will carry out God's work as it's supposed to be done. There is far too much going on. The Devil has been risen, child. It's time to put him back in his cage."

* * *

_A/N: As always, thank you so much for sticking with me. Thanks for comments, reviews, favs, likes, follows, everything! I apologise for the spaced out updates but I am hoping to get better at it. Much love,_

_ZeB xxx_


	17. Lay My Vengeance

"_Our prime purpose in this life is to help others. And if you can't help them, at least don't hurt them." – Dalai Lama_

**17\. Lay my vengeance.**

_**Date: Beginning of September, 2009.**_

_**Location: Oklahoma - Holy Angels Parish.**_

Ava had a flock. A congregation.

Actual _acolytes_.

Charlie folded her hands together, fingers interlinking over her lap. Looking down in the dim light of the confessional, she pressed her palms hard together to imprint a set of Rosary beads into the skin. Ava had given them to her as a 'gift'. Releasing the pressure, Charlie watched the color of her skin redden rapidly when the blood flow was restored. The Crucifix was imprinted there now, satisfyingly crooked, and a painful reminder that she was alive, still a part of a nightmare.

Ava's admirers didn't extend too far, but she was an influential leader. It was only a matter of time before she increased the number of her supporters even more. So far, she had around twenty. All were varying ages; elderly, adults, teenagers, and children.

On the surface it was a fairly normal community, if a little reserved and tightly wound. They held Mass, had garden parties, taught Bible studies, and organised religious retreats. There was a movie and game night, dance recitals and bake sales, AA meetings and Scavenger Hunts. The list went on.

Underneath it all was a collection of people who believed it was their duty to cleanse the world of Sin. In little gatherings in the evenings, they talked about the Hunting and burning of transgressors. They discussed exorcising Demons and teaching those who would join their cause. They strived to punish the wicked and recruit the weak.

Ava was the righteous figurehead, right at the top of their insane tree. They turned to her for guidance in times of need and for advice on how they should proceed with anything that involved the community or town.

"_There is so much evil out there, Charlie," Ava had said that first night. Jane had only been gone half an hour, leaving the two of them in the eerily dim, quiet kitchen. Ava stood above Charlie from her position on the kitchen chair, and pressed a firm, '_reassuring'_, hand on Charlie's shoulder. "And so few to fight it. The Devil has corrupted us. Evil must be purged from this world. It falls to us to accomplish this great task."_

Light spilled across her vision in the confessional, accompanied by the rustle of heavy cloth. Charlie was brought back to her thoughts by the weedy presence of the Parish Priest, Father Thomas. He was a thin man. Tall, too, but with a hunch that seemed to stem from anticipation of a physical strike. He was cowardly and submissive, snapping under the weight of the older influences in his community. He was a boy in the body of a thirty-five year old adult. On the other side of the partition, she could hear him arranging his robes fastidiously before seating himself. When on his own, Charlie got the impression that he liked the superiority he received from the title of Priest. Outside of his parents and Ava (his main influences other than God), he warmed to the role of spiritual counselor and messenger of God, taking great pride in his appearance, both in body and aesthetics, and he was often the first to step into a conversation with words of 'wisdom'.

Charlie, having been left there kneeling for some time, leaned up against the wooden divide between them in an effort to stretch her legs and release some of the pressure on her joints. She waited until he was settled, her elbows upon the hard little shelf. Breathing deeply, she tried to keep a tight rein on her fury. She never thought she would grow to hate so many people in so little a time, but her already thin soul was stretched even more at the audacity of the people in this little town.

The panel slid open with a soft rasp and click. Father Thomas made the sign of the cross, the pale skin of his face bowed, dark clothing blending into the shadows. Charlie refused to follow suit. The indentation of the beads on her palms grew deeper. Her jaw ached from the restraint. "In the name of the Father," he began, "and the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen."

The words rolled off her tongue like burning ice, the compulsion spell simmering in the engraved cuffs tight around her wrists. "Forgive me, Father, for I have Sinned. It's been eighteen years since my last confession."

Father Thomas' quiet intake of breath was loud in the small space. She could see him glance at her through the screen. Pale blue eyes - the wrong color on such a fetid soul - fluttered in nervousness. Charlie had heard Ava warn him over the phone that she was sending her over for confession first thing in the morning.

One of the first tasks Ava had given her was to purge the Sin from her congregation. What better way to start than with a corrupted priest? His energy reeked of impulsiveness. Charlie had watched him through Mass, seated at the back where he couldn't spot her. She had caught him staring at the alter boy with a sickening greed.

Father Thomas swallowed convulsively, his nearest hand clutching the edge of the little sill on his side in a white knuckled grip. Sweat collected on his brow and upper lip.

Charlie released the death grip on her beads, opening her hands to begin wrapping the sturdy item around her wrist out of the way. The excess swung and clicked when she repositioned her hands in a looser grip; a mockery of prayer.

"Despite what Ava will have me do, Father," she intoned quietly, eyes gazing into nothing, vision blurring in the crossed lines of the thin barrier between them. "I don't think I'll regret explaining the consequences of your misdeeds."

Ava wanted her to give the man a chance to repent. To rejoin the community a better man. Charlie had waited patiently after Mass, once she was sure the boy had been safely brought home by his mother. _The time the Father took to pleasure himself in his office is enough time to repent, _Charlie thought.

* * *

_**Date: Beginning of September, 2009.**_

_**Location: Oklahoma - On the Road.**_

The RV was old, lined with what used to be dark wood paneling. Charlie leaned on the cool glass of the fogged window, watching the rain glide down in long streaks. The poor excuse for a heater stuttered pathetically, failing to warm the occupants or clear the windows fully. If anything, the air made them all colder. All except Charlie. Charlie sat in the passenger seat, a worn thing with holes and scuffed material, feet pressed against the dash, body curled in on itself while she bit ineffectually at a hangnail on her thumb.

Beside her, the driver, John, hummed softly to a Christian rock song on the radio. The back of the RV was cast in shadows, and the pale streetlights highlighted various religious nicknacks dotted around. It was like Ava's house, only more compact and musty. To one side, there was a neatly square table draped in a thick white cloth. Pressed into the fabric, a small wooden statue of the Mother Mary hovered over a collection of simple tea candles, sporadically lit by a young girl called Janine. Janine reminded Charlie of Sadie, though she was more delicate, with a focus on God instead of the Devil. The young girl was knitting something in one of the seats, humming like John, only to a different song. Ava, the only other occupant in _this _vehicle, was busy reciting prayers in the small bedroom at the back, the door open so they could hear her benedictions.

The scent of rain permeated the front, making Charlie scrunch up further. In an effort to block the other passengers out, she drew up the hood of the new sweater Janine had procured for her. It was one of the many things Ava had insisted Charlie have; new clothes, new hairstyle, new look in an effort to blend. Charlie had received similar treatment from Jane, but that didn't make it easier. They had essentially stolen her identity. She missed her jacket and wallet. She missed her boots. She missed her muddy brown hair and her loose comfortable jeans.

She missed the boys. Breathing deeply, her eyes closed in an effort to block out where she was. The smell of petrichor inevitably leading her to think about Cas. The pain was no longer prominent when she thought about him, but Charlie didn't understand what that meant. She shouldn't even be thinking about him, really, but she believed he had saved her in some way.

There was a memory of something wrapping around her before the blank spots washed it out. Charlie sighed. She should be thinking about her family. There was still no way for her to find any information about what her family was up to, and what had really happened in detail. All Ava would tell her was that Lucifer was free. Jane had been of the same mind when questioned. 'Tell Charlie nothing of value.'

Jane had avoided Hunters like the plague, and Ava seemed no different. Authorities were a distant thought with an Angel to clean up the mess left behind. If the authorities _did _catch onto anything suspicious, Ava had easy methods of keeping Charlie locked up where they wouldn't find her; namely spending the time with the Angelic asshole, who refused to speak to her, and who caused burning sensations whenever he came into contact with her skin.

Charlie's hair, which had been growing unruly in her three months with Jane, was short once more, and the color of coal. Charlie hated it. It washed out her skin, making her look sickly and Ghost-like. She was often dressed in khaki trousers and thick, military style boots with plain, dark t-shirts. Anything Ava could do to make her unrecognisable, she had done.

Charlie jerked in surprise when the RV ran over a pothole. John sent her an apologetic glance, but Charlie ignored him. Instead, she picked up the old leather bound bible that Ava had given her. Another 'gift'. Charlie had shoved it between the seat cushion and the door with the hope it would fall out and be left behind at the next rest stop, but the pothole had dislodged it to poke into her hip.

A new song began, transitioning smoothly to another Christian rock band she'd never heard of. John glanced at her out of the corner of his eye when she cracked the spine of the Bible. She did this often in the pretense of reading it for everyone else's sake, but it was really only to do something with her hands. When thoughts of Cas had become less painful, Charlie had started to read again about Angels. She wondered if he was alive. She had thought him dead upon her initial return, but maybe the pain meant something else. _If he is alive, can he find me? Hear me? Is he with Dean and Sam? Or Bobby? Can he pass on a message to Martha?_

Charlie wasn't sure. She wanted to try, but if Lucifer was free, perhaps Cas was helping in the fight against him. She hesitated often when the urge to call on him popped into her head. She could handle herself. She was an adult. An accomplished Hunter. Coming to the whims of one woman shouldn't be a priority to the greater picture.

In weaker moments, however, she missed his calming, powerful presence.

Charlie ran her dry-skinned fingers across the worn pages, allowing the music to wash over her. The rain began to increase in tempo against the windshield. Closing the book, she held it to her chest in an illusion of comfort, tipping her head to the side to thump gently against the window. Her knuckles ached with the cracked skin stretching to hold the volume, but she welcomed the minor pain.

_Someone please get me out of this horror show._

* * *

_**Date: Mid September, 2009.**_

_**Location: Stanton, Kansas - Bumfuck Nowhere.**_

Jerome Dearns was an old friend of Ava's. He was tall, well built with square shoulders shaped by countless years in the army. He was all hard lines and hard demeanor. Short temper. Focused. Religious (of course). Strict. He had the face of a bulldog and an attitude to match, and had no time for anything that caused inefficiency... except for Ava. He had all the time in the world for his Avanna. He was a puppy under her hand, appearing flattered and even flustered at her attention, and eager to help in any way he was able.

Ava set him the task of adding to Charlie's training.

They stayed in his house for a few days while he got his affairs in order, and then he joined their party of travelling RV's. They journeyed under the guise of a religious retreat to keep under the radar.

Jerome started his regime straight away. He wanted to utilize Charlie's physical strengths so that Ava could harness her supernatural ones. He woke her early every morning from wherever she had managed to find a place to sleep (usually it was the passenger seat, or squashed up in one of the seats by the small table. Her feet always hung over the edge, and she lived with horrible cramps, but Ava was insistent that it was good for the character to experience some hardship). They stopped for an hour or more every morning, early enough that Jerome could make her run, and fight, and survive in various exercises. When she wasn't preparing for their 'cause', Ava had Charlie practice her gifts between towns, and when she wasn't doing any of that, Charlie was learning how to be a part of their community.

It was exhausting.

The driver, John, took her aside one day to teach her about vehicular repair. "In case any of us get in trouble. Not everyone has the knack for mechanics, but Ava said you were a quick study." John was an older man with a quiet wife and no other family. They took turns driving when his wife was in their RV.

Charlie had no interest in engineering, so when she refused to participate in his teachings, he was at a loss as to what to do with her. Ava's orders were only to embrace the community, so, thankfully, she wasn't compelled to do everything they asked. John tried for a few days, encouraging her to get her hands dirty whenever they stopped for gas or just a break on the side of the road. He encouraged her to look at certain aspects of how engines worked and the like, but it wasn't until Charlie spotted an old filthy manual in a basket of a garage that she found a spark of curiosity.

"Teach me about these," she said, proffering up a nineteen sixties Chevy Impala manual, "and I'll take in anything you teach me."

* * *

When Ava was comfortable giving her a longer leash (so to speak) Charlie was passed around the RV's to do some socializing.

Board games were a common feature. Charlie had never been intrigued by them, even as a child, so it took several days for her to realize that she hated Chutes and Ladders. Anything noisy, like Connect Four, Operation, or – God forbid – gnashing hippos or Operation, were also out of the question. Card games were better, but with Ava encouraging her to use her gifts of Sight _("It's basically the lowering of your barriers, Charlie. You've just been blocking it all this time."),_ it was too easy to spot the tells and lies. Monopoly was a terrible chore – domesticity in any form never really suited her. Battleship held no interest, and Clue was just confusing and pointless when the younger ones started playing by their own rules for 'fun'. Twister was a no go because – just no. The logistics of it alone were ridiculous in the tiny space available, and there was no way she was touching any of the floors in some of the motels they stopped in for 'something different' (read: breaking up routine to avoid being caught). Pictionary was a disaster because some cards were missing and, again, the younger ones began asking her to draw things from her life, which - _again_ \- no.

Her only saving grace was Harvey. Sweet Harvey. He told her stories about his childhood chasing fairies, about adventures fighting pirates, and about his mother who baked him cookies when he'd had a bad day in school (which was often). His mother kept him safe from the monsters in his closet and the bullies in his life. He was a thin, tall, older man with a sharp wit and equally sharp dress sense. He had the habit of brushing his hair back off his pale face with long fingers when he leaned too far forward over the games. He taught her how to play chess in the middle of the night when neither of them could sleep well. The only reason he entertained Ava's nonsense was he was too jaded to protest it anymore. She had bothered his town for weeks. Harvey had vowed to never participate in the darker dealings of Ava and her group, but his older neighbor, Judith, had gotten caught up in it when her son died in a robbery gone wrong some years before. Judith had lost her way, Ava had found her, and Harvey didn't want to leave her to the wolves.

"There was nothing tying me to that place anymore, anyway," he said quietly, hand hovering over his Bishop the third night of teaching Charlie to play. Smoothly maneuvering it across the board, he glanced up and smirked. "Check."

Harvey had a very distinctive voice, speaking with an air of soft contemplation, as if he had all the time in the world to release the words. Once he had answered her most pressing questions, he began to ask a lot about her. They spoke of her childhood and where her favorite places to eat were. He wanted to know how she felt when she found her large adopted family in the Crivens'. Through subtle direction of conversation, he managed to get her to describe her first boyfriend, and what it was like to have a first dance. When the hours grew late but neither wanted to stop their latest game of Chess, they ventured into the darker topic of what had happened to her, what it felt like to give up, how it felt to meet an Angel, and how she would feel at the end.

"The end of what?" Charlie asked, looking up curiously after she had placed her pawn neatly in its square. The table was lumpy in places, the plastic top warped from years of spilled beverages and dampness. The bare bulb above them flickered, before settling to shine weakly onto the checkerboard. Harvey was in the last trailer of the entire troupe, only he, Judith (asleep in a bedroom), and the driver (a young woman named Terri) bobbing her dark head away to some secular pop music.

Harvey pursed his lips thoughtfully, analyzing the board. He glanced up at her, hand supporting his chin like a little boy contemplating whether his mother would notice if he snagged a fresh cookie off the tray. His crisp shirt cuff slid up his forearm, revealing veined skin and a green tattoo of a half naked woman in a maid's outfit. "The end of your life."

Charlie thumbed the corner of the board, an old thin cardboard one they'd found in the bottom of a cupboard. The fraying edge was still pointed enough to dig into the skin, and Charlie scraped her thumb along it as if to soothe an itch. "You mean will I be happy with what I've accomplished?"

He hummed, lifting a long finger to touch the top of a plastic Knight. He moved it carefully, and Charlie blinked to find that he was closing in. He looked up, dark eyes watching her expression carefully. "Of course. Everyone thinks about it."

"I don't know," she answered truthfully, trying and failing to think of a way to save her King. She hadn't really been into the game from the start, but was enjoying his company. "I never really thought about it the first time. I was just desperate to get out." She pursed her lips to one side. "Is anyone really satisfied?"

He hummed thoughtfully. "Some."

Charlie nudged a Bishop distractedly, eyes drifting down to look at a shiny black button on Harvey's suit jacket. "My life is full of unexpected death. I could go any time. We all know it, in the Hunting game. A certainty about uncertainty. I've already tried to end it, and before this nightmare, I died in a house when an Angel was vaporized. I could die again tomorrow."

"You sound like you want to."

Charlie smirked humorlessly, eyebrows raising with her sigh. "At the moment, I do."

He allowed a small silence before smoothly keeping the conversation on track. "So if you die tomorrow, what would you feel?"

Charlie frowned, letting her gaze move away from the button to the board. Beside her, there were a few of Harvey's pieces nestled together. "Sad."

"Why?" he asked softly, leaning forward to keep their conversation as private as possible. His hair slipped loose from its neatened style, long strands falling over one side to feather across his right eye. He didn't fix it.

Behind her, Charlie could hear the song change again, but she wasn't worried about eavesdropping. Terri wasn't like the others. She was a headstrong girl, but she'd had Harvey as a role model ever since her mother signed her up to volunteer to help the Church when she was sixteen. She had been the epitome of teenage rebel, only backwards. She went against the view of her parents and her community, learning that what they wanted was wrong and not for her, but she was forced to keep most of her opinions to herself. She grew up to have the belief of never judging before thinking the situation through. In the end, she didn't want to leave Harvey alone with the crazies, so she ended up along for the ride.

_A terrible waste of a life_, Charlie thought, _to be repressed with a fear of losing everything you have over a difference of opinion._

Picking up a pawn from the collection, Charlie glanced at the board again, feeling ancient and tired. "I can't say that I was fulfilled before now. My aunt wanted me to try again, but I kept failing. I was useless to them in the end. Pointless." Charlie inhaled deeply, before releasing the breath as a slow sigh. "I'm also missing something that makes me feel… empty."

"Oh?"

"A part of me." She looked up, piece curled into her cold palm. "I'm broken. Incomplete."

Harvey tilted his head at her, and a sharp pang of longing echoed across her gut. She thought of Cas and her family again. It was a sharp pain, still fervid after so long… _God,_ Charlie thought, _it hasn't even been that long. It just _feels _like an eternity._ "You're lost."

She could only stare at him, seeing his expression become understanding of how far she was from home, how far she was from safety.

"How will you find yourself again?"

Looking at the pawn in her hand, she lost all interest in the game. "I don't know."

* * *

Over the next few weeks, Charlie continued to play chess with Harvey. She spent the quieter evenings learning about Impalas with John. She trained hard with Jerome in the mornings, and she learned how to bake and cook basic things with a few of the more insistent housewives. Charlie learning to support herself and a possible future husband was a large priority in their view. When not having to endure these tasks, Charlie attended their Bible studies, or helped set up Masses for the small towns they stopped in. She taught some of the more capable (namely the young and fitter acolytes) about Hunting.

Ava's followers had no idea that Charlie was filing away everything they had given her as a bad experience, something to be forgotten. Everything she would ever do with these skills would be tainted by their cruelty and ignorant malice. Only Ava, Harvey, and Terri knew of the spelled metal cuffs Hashmal had created to bind her. No one had any idea that she was being manipulated by magical coercion. They thought she _wanted_ this.

One day, several weeks after her talk with Harvey about how she would find home, Charlie began to remember her dreams. Ever since returning to the world in Seattle, the pain, when Charlie thought of where she had vanished to, gradually disappeared. Her restless nights that had her up with Harvey were filled with disturbing images she could never recall the next morning.

It changed one night, beginning in bits and pieces; certain things she came across during the day or night triggered a vague image that made no sense. After the sixth night, she no longer dreamt of Jane and her tasks. She didn't dream about Ava or her acolytes.

No. Charlie began to dream of vast oceans that met wide deserts. She dreamt of an enormous garden and gateways, of tall mountains where disfigured giants and tiny spirits wandered in a long, drawn-out, drifting pace. She dreamed about an armored, glowing man with wings that kept watch towards the horizon.

* * *

The dreams had some sort of strange effect on Hashmal's spells. Charlie began to get distracted by the new introduction of image parallels that reminded her of some of the more unusual creatures. The simplest shapes and colors like post boxes, napkin dispensers, and varying shades of blue, often made Charlie think she was starting to hallucinate her dreams while awake. She thought she saw one thing, only to turn and find something as ordinary as a tree where a strange creature used to be.

They were impossible creatures, all misshapen and odd limbed, with one or two familiar animals in between.

She kept quiet about it, thinking she was going mad, or that the spells had started to affect her brain, but then they began to interfere with her abilities. Her paranormal perception (or Sight, as Ava called it) came and went without control. She would see everything when Ava requested her to use it… but then there were minutes were Charlie couldn't access the ability at all no matter what she did. The darkness in people she often saw, even as a child, became harder to differentiate. Ava claimed the darkness were the 'Sins', and to a point, Charlie supposed she agreed, but that vanished for hours at a time. In order to manipulate and bury the Sins of a person, Charlie had to perform something similar to an exorcism with the connection of magic and her soul, but she needed the Sight to read the code in order to do so.

When Manipulation and Sight began to waver, Charlie started to realize that she was able to rid herself of the lightest of coercion spells on the cuffs if she willed it hard enough. It had been a pure accident when she first found out; she had cut herself with a ritual blade without meaning to, and Ava had ordered her to clean it straight away. Charlie, compelled, had retreated into the nearest RV to do so. Shut in the tiny bathroom, Charlie had pressed her forehead against the glass and gripped the sink hard enough for the shaped plastic to crack on a weak spot. With all her might she squeezed until the white hot pain of the slice in her skin blocked everything out. She flat out refused the compulsion so she could experience the pain a bit longer, just a bit longer - and the compulsion just… vanished.

Charlie asked to stay in Harvey's trailer that night to take a turn driving to the next town. In six hours of nothing but the radio, the rear end of the other RV before her, and her own company, Charlie's mind began to see things a little clearer.

_None of this makes sense when I put it together,_ she thought, flexing her fingers on the wheel.

_Ava thinks I'm a First. Jane thought so as well. As did Kieran, but Keiran only had a theory. There's no actual evidence that I'm a First._

Charlie sighed, readjusting her grip on the wheel and lifting her foot off the accelerator for a moment to stretch her ankle.

_Ok. Break it down. What can a First do?_

Between Jane, Ava, and Kieran, Charlie started piecing it together.

Firsts could see God's code. _Check, but I couldn't before I died with Cas. Does that mean I've always had that ability and couldn't access it, or has someone given it to me from up there? If they did, why? If they didn't, why couldn't I access it before? _Charlie hummed. _Probably because I blocked it out for so long. But do Firsts have supernatural perception, though? Kieran gave me the impression they did, but Jane and Ava had never hinted at my supernatural perception. They think I only see God's code and the flaws in it to indicate Sin._

Firsts could Manipulate the code. That was a bit of a gray area. Charlie couldn't really read it. With spellwork and the remnants of her soul, she could force the 'Sins' deep down, sometimes away if they were very minor, but Charlie thought that was more the spell than her own ability to manipulate the code: a ritual cleansing.

Firsts could teleport like Angels and Demons. This, again, came with manipulation of the code. Charlie couldn't do this either. She had tried, with very minimal success were Hashmal had to used his Grace to bring her back from an episode, much like Cas had. Her mind couldn't take the strain. The episodes came up too fast. Normal people could do it, though. Dean could be moved without any issues; he and Cas had proven that when they'd transported to the warehouse for Dean to torture Alastair.

Firsts used magic with ease. Charlie cringed at her memories of her attempts at magic when Martha had first started training her to be a Hunter. It had been - and still was - as embarrassing as her cooking skills. Spells did not want to work for her. They never had. She struggled with even the simplest ones.

_It's like they run off me like water. _Charlie nearly jerked the RV off the road when the thought hit her. With a sharp noise erupting out of her throat, she righted it before anyone noticed anything amiss. _Jesus fucking Christ. They don't _stick_. _

_Fuck_. _Why didn't I think of that before?_ Magic needed a soul to work effectively. An _entire_ soul. It was a hell of a revelation. _Spells don't work on me. Not unless they're very strong like Ava and Jane's. Jesus! No wonder I've always been shit at magic. My body or soul or whatever fucking _rejects _it. _

Ava was going to begin noticing the spells fading. It was inevitable, just like Jane. Hell, Charlie suspected the woman was already suspicious, watching Charlie at random times of the day like she was just waiting for a slip up. The older woman would try to renew them soon, but for now, Charlie had a clear head. She was not a First. She couldn't be. Too many variables to be a solid fact. Things like ancient bloodlines and abilities didn't just change that much, so she was back to square one. Back to the beginning of not knowing what she was.

_At least I know what I'm not._

When her shift was over, Charlie was ordered back to Ava's RV at the front where the older woman watched her constantly. When Ava told her that evening that she had made the decision to renew the spells, Charlie bit her tongue to keep her mouth shut. Sitting at the table, hands interlinked and folded on the white cloth, Charlie took in everything her senses would allow her to help her keep her mind focused and aware.

Ava disappeared into her room to consult with Hashmal, since the Angel was the one to reinforce the magic that bound her. Charlie knew they would successfully reestablish most of them (the revelation that she could shake off the spells at certain points did not lend to the strength to do so immediately), but she was determined to fight the ones that made her head foggy. _No more wallowing in self pity, _she admonished herself.

* * *

_**Date: Beginning of November, 2009.**_

_**Location: On the road.**_

The magic was renewed the day after Ava's commune with Angel limp-dick. Charlie could feel it there, buried in the metal cuffs pressed into her skin like normal fashion bracelets. They were unbreakable to any man made tools (Charlie had tried once with Harvey and Terri keeping watch). These fresh spells crept up into her heart and mind, trying to seduce her into yielding to Ava's will. Charlie pushed them away, closed off with everything she had to the furthest part of her: the surface of her skin, away from her suffering soul. She would play nice until she had an opportunity.

So Charlie played her part.

She jogged.

Sparred.

Worked.

Trained.

Socialized.

Practiced.

She ate, and slept, and bathed, much like she had with Jane's Groupies; developing a routine of basic requirements for her body.

She played games, and pushed away the self hate for acting like a good little soldier.

There were nightmares again with the dreaded tasks Ava had her accomplish "in the name of God."

There was blood.

Pain.

Exhaustion.

Repetition.

Charlie fought the lingering feeling of helplessness when she failed at breaking the spells day after day. She tried hard to rally against the righteous violence.

New scars.

Sore muscles.

Hard frame.

Hard skin.

Hard heart.

She fought to stay on the fringe of sanity, to avoid the fall that would make her soul lost.

Over time, Ava allowed Charlie to be seen as the instigator to her order for the world. They continued to chase down Lucifer at the far edges of his territory. Ava had needed to step it up a notch without alerting too many that would stop her. To do this, she needed to change tactics in order to impress upon the congregation, upon the world, upon Charlie, that Ava was a savior of Mankind, that her and her congregation were the answer to stopping the Apocalypse. Charlie was the driving force of God's hand, and Ava had decided that giving her a new name would show the world that Ava meant to keep her promises of eradicating the filth that stained the Earth.

After three months with Ava, Charlie was no longer Charlie. She was no longer to be seen as Human. She was to be seen as a weapon.

Charlie was now Remiel, the 'Thunder of God'.

Through it all, Charlie fought, her resilience stemming from the lingering dreams of a hot, wide desert blanketed by the universe above.

* * *

_**Date: Beginning of December, 2009.**_

_**Location: Des Moines, Iowa - Church.**_

The Church was empty, save for a Priest by the name of Father Kyle, and Charlie. It was a rare moment where Charlie had been allowed to separate herself from the troupe. Ava would leave her alone in the Churches they passed by if Charlie seemed keen enough to repent. She never was, but it was a small moment for some peace and quiet.

There was only the faint rustle of clothing and muted clinks of metal from whatever the Father was doing across the room. Charlie didn't really care. He had been courteous enough to leave her be. Seated as she was on the second pew from the front, she tipped her head back on the bench, face turned to the side to catch the full beam of sunlight streaming through a stained glass window. Slitting her eyes against the light, she could pick out the striking image of an ascending Angel carrying a child. Father Kyle claimed the story it had originated from was about a woman in the eighteen nineties. She had experienced a stillbirth and had a vision of an Angel taking her child to Heaven. The Angel had looked at the child, and then the mother in apology, before retreating back to the higher realm.

As horrible as the story seemed, the depiction was beautiful. The wings, though not fully revealed in the glass, were the color of polished opal, shimmering like a kaleidoscope of light. The robes that adorned the being were varying shades of mottled blue, and the Angel regarded the child bundled in its arms with a fragile care and sorrow that Charlie suspected to be entirely Human imaginings.

"Ramiel."

Charlie nearly flinched at the unexpected sound of Ava's voice. Instead she tensed. Something slumped beside her, the rush of air startling enough to quiet her thoughts. Charlie sat up slowly, and turned to see Ava standing in the space between pews behind her, hands folded in front as if to restrain herself. The pleased, excited expression on her face put Charlie on edge. Glancing down, Charlie saw a dark sprawl of fabric beside her, draped over the back and seat of her pew. A long coat.

Looking back up, she kept her face neutral when Ava spoke. "It's time for another task."

* * *

_**Date: Beginning of December, 2009.**_

_**Location: Holt, Nebraska – Hobbs Family Ranch.**_

Charlie braced herself on the railing along the porch at the front of the house, wood rough against her palms and hard against her abdomen. Groaning, skin clammy, Charlie leaned over again to wretch onto the grass clinging to the nooks of the house. Stomach sore and empty, she gave a final spit, wiped her free hand over her mouth in disgust, and blearily stood straighter. Rejection. Her body was rejecting everything. The spells, the training, the fighting (both physical and mental), the magic that drained her soul... It was becoming too much. It was getting harder to keep her head straight. She was wearing thin, sanity hanging by a tiny thread that wouldn't hold much longer.

She needed help.

"Good work in there," came Ava's voice behind her, crisp and pleased. She patted Charlie on the shoulder delicately. Charlie tried to suppress the shudder of revulsion, facing out into the blank lands smothered in the dark night. "We've purged the Evil from the Hobbs family. The father will no longer feel the urge to commit adultery, and his wife shall live a good life as part of our collection of saved souls. You've done well, and have come so far in such a short space of time. I'm so _proud_ of you."

_Pride_, Charlie sneered internally. _Don't you know the Sin of Pride you hypocrite woman? _There was a pause, and Charlie wanted to look up at the stars. She wanted to see the universe above her. She wanted to see the giants sloping by. She wanted the four-legged creature who'd laughed at her so warmly to take her away from here. _Let me die. Take me away. Please. _No one answered her except the soft rustle of the wind. There was no one there to see what Charlie had done to 'purge' the man of his _life_. He hadn't been strong enough to withstand the torture - _the 'punishment' _\- that Ava had had her inflict upon him. The lunatic woman had then coerced - spelled - the wife and child to see that it was the _right thing_, that it had happened for a _reason, _that what they were doing was _accepted_ – even approved of - in God's eyes.

Ava clasped Charlie's shoulder in a firm, clawed grip, stepping to her side to watch the empty lands as well. She breathed in a satisfied sigh. "I have other tasks for you, and I think you've proved yourself well to not require mine, or anyone's, supervision any longer. The spells seem to have held this time around. I am confident you are capable." Charlie could see Ava turn her head to regard her out of the corner of her eye. "You are ready to do this on your own, my child."

* * *

_**Date: Mid-December, 2009.**_

_**Location: Livingston, Illinois - Grant Residence.**_

"_Expel the Demon that resides in Mr. Grant's body. We need information on the Devil's dealings."_

Charlie listened to the soft disconnect on the other end of the throw-away cell phone, eyes fixed on the Demonic face playing family with Mr. Grant's wife and son through a living room window. She was across the street in the looming presence of a bare tree. The wind was sharp on her skin, but she ignored it. Charlie looked around in the pretence of a casual glance, her heart not really in the ruse. There was no point.

The Demon hadn't expected her. He tried to bargain in the face of her blank gaze, but Charlie only locked the family away so they wouldn't see what she had to do. Normally - Charlie scoffed at the word - she would have exorcised the creature to give the host the best chance at survival, but Ava wanted information, and the woman was starting to get more ruthless. The cuffs shivered in warning at her thoughts of skipping out on it this time, so Charlie tortured Baroth - _really? Baroth? Did they make this shit up?_ \- until he gave her the potential location of Lucifer's next move. It could be a lie for all Charlie knew. It was hard to judge a Demon's true face in comparison to their vessels.

Using a damp rag left on the kitchen counter, Charlie picked up the phone to call the Police and an ambulance. She'd pushed the Human aspect of Mr. Grant down into a quiet corner of his mind as much as possible during the torture, but the man might not recover. The final thing she did for him was exorcise the Demon.

"Don't leave the room until help gets here," she warned the wife through the pantry door. "Don't let your daughter see. I…" Charlie hesitated. "I'm sorry."

* * *

_**Date: Mid-December, 2009.**_

_**Location: Alfordsville, Indiana - St. Johns Church.**_

"No! God, _please, no!_"

"I'm sorry," Charlie repeated, over, and over, and over. Hot tears streamed down her face and neck, her stomach roiled at the slick, hot feeling of the blood that dripped off her hands and forearms. "I'm sorry."

The doors rattled with the panicked effort of the Church goers. Their screams echoed up to the roof to circle around the pews and statues. The remaining lit candles fluttered at the magic that sealed the exits. There was no escape.

The priest swayed from his position on his knees in front of her at the altar, cassock crumpled, blood stained and trapped under him. He was crying. Begging. Sobbing. Pleading for her to stop... but she couldn't.

"I'm sorry."

She couldn't. The blade sliced through his throat with minimal effort. Slick, metallic warmth gushed across her fingers and wrists, soaking into her skin to taint her soul.

"I'm sorry."

She wasn't strong enough to fight it. Not any more. Ava just kept adding layers of spells every week, despite the claim she made when she had released her. Charlie couldn't keep up. Her mind was starting to fracture. She could feel it at the back of her eyes and at the crux of her sternum. A sharp, snapping pain that only she could feel.

Charlie squeezed her eyes so tight, she thought they might implode from the pressure. Releasing a wet sob, she reached out to pet the mans sticky hair in a futile effort to apologize once more.

A woman screamed.

"I'm sorry."

There was no coming back from this.

* * *

_**Date: Beginning of January, 2010.**_

_**Location: Wellington, Ohio - Hotel room 314.**_

Charlie came in and out of awareness throughout her jobs. Once she had begun to fight the spells, they no longer seemed to hold as long, even when she gave up. Ava still had to renew them regularly, but Charlie couldn't bring herself to care anymore. The magic coerced her body to perform and look after itself, covering the basics of bathroom, food, and cleanliness. Her skin began to dry up from the harsh soaps of the Hotels and Motels she stayed at. Her skin was pale and sickly looking. Sleep was practically non-existent. When she did close her eyes, all she could see where haunted faces and rivers of blood rising up to her waist, creeping slowly higher every day, and seeping into her pores. The dreams of giants and deserts vanished. She no longer saw the Universe above her. The warmth had come and gone, her body now so cold enough that her hands hurt continuously. Her hair began to grow out enough to see the roots, the color dulling significantly without proper shampoos to keep it shining and healthy (not that it would aid her complexion at this stage). She grew thinner, as she only ate when it was required, and even then the spells only made her start, not finish. The leanness was beginning to fade. Charlie could no longer stand to look at her reflection any more. People had watched her at first, looking alarmed and concerned, but her indifference soon paid off. Her childhood ability to will herself unnoticeable worked even better.

It was the name that was the most important. 'Charlie' was supposed to fade, supposed to be invisible. Ramiel was the one to bring the terror and righteous glory unto the world. Ramiel put the fear into the hearts of Men and Monster. Charlie was to be forgotten. It was working. The rumors of Ramiel were spreading like wildfire.

After the Church in Indiana, Charlie had cried for three days. She was thankful Ava hadn't needed her, but she almost wished she had. Maybe then she would have felt too busy or occupied to think about what she was doing. The idleness in between was driving her as mad as the tasks themselves.

Charlie blinked sluggishly, inhaling a long, deep breath from her position on one side on the bed. She frowned. Something smelled like chocolate.

It took several minutes, but eventually Charlie pushed herself up, swung her legs over the bed, and just sat there, staring at the door. The room smelled like chocolate with an overpowering, tangy scent of raspberry.

There was a noise outside the door. A voice. Male.

"Christ on a cracker, where in Father's name is that horrible, overwhelming feeling coming from?"

There was a muffled, feminine giggle, but Charlie didn't think anything about that sentence was funny.

"Quiet, doll." Another giggle. A surprised groan and a muffled thump like a weight falling against the wall. The man tutted, but let out a small laugh. "Ah ah. I warned you, sweetheart. Maybe later. Daddy's gotta check something out."

There was silence, and then Charlie could _feel _the presence at the door. A small rap, and the door opened on it's own, swinging slow and wide to bump gently against the the wall. Charlie made no move for her weapons by the bedside, wondering if this would be the end for her. That would be nice, she thought, if it was fairly quick and painless.

There was a pause and then, "Oh honey," the man said, face falling as he caught sight of her.

Charlie blinked at him. No. This wasn't a man. This was an Angel, and a beautiful one at that. His large wings had a soft white underbelly that was speckled with a tanned brown color. The color spread up and around to cover the top sides of the wings, where they shifted uncomfortably like a person wanting to put their hands in their pockets, only to realize they had no pockets. The sweep of them were wide and thick, hundreds of feathers overlapping in an arranged mess. 'Bedhead' came to mind. Small tufts sticking out here and there. Beneath the skin, his true form flowed like an ancient ocean into his frothing Grace. It looked a little chaotic. Hard to discern the details.

The creature's vessel had a jutting chin, thin lips, and v-shaped brow sloping down into a sharp nose. He looked reminiscent of a barn owl.

All in all, she thought, a gorgeous, glowingly handsome Angel.

He smirked a little, but his heart didn't seem that into it. If anything, he looked a bit lost. "Flattery will get you everywhere, cupcake."

Charlie was confused for a moment, until she realized she had probably spoken out loud. The Angel walked closer, entering the room with a caution one would approach a wounded, skittish animal. Charlie, hands resting in her lap, just watched him passively. This wasn't Hashmal or Cas. He didn't look like he was here to hurt her, or even help her. He just looked sad and confused.

He stopped in front of her, wings shifting again to curve down around his back and out of the way when he crouched to meet her eyeline. His eyes, expressive, large and calculating, squinted at her shrewdly, before his features fell slack again. "_You see me."_

Charlie nodded absently. Unable to help herself, she stretched out a hand towards a wing. It lifted and he allowed her to gently stroke some of the soft feathers at the curve of bone.

He watched her for a moment, his eyes taking on a faint glow. "Oh." He frowned, glow retreating back to a normal color. He gently clasped her free hand with his and touched her face with a careful delicacy with the other. "That's a lot of mojo layered on you. You're in a lot of pain, aren't you darlin'?"

Charlie continued to stroke his wing with a slow, fascinated care. She would have loved to have been able to do this long before now. How often could she say she got to touch an Angel's wings? It tingled, like the flexing of a limb after it had gone asleep. The feathers were soft enough to feel like liquid. Maybe she should have tried on Castiel. She wondered what his expression would have been.

Gabriel huffed, a small laugh buried in the disbelieving sound. "My baby brother's made a bit of an impression with you in a short amount of time, honey." He ran his hand up into her hair, frowning at it's condition. He wrinkled his nose. "Cripes, you're in a bit of a state." He sighed softly. "Listen cutie pie, I have some business to take care of with some naughty brothers. How 'bout you join me for a bit and then we'll see what we can do with you, hmm?"

Charlie dropped her hand from his wing to concentrate on meeting his gaze. She nodded. "Okay."

He smiled broadly. "What's your name, sweetheart?"

"Charlie."

"Gorgeous," he proclaimed, standing and encouraging her up with him. He looked down at her, and Charlie thought it was funny that for such a large Angel, his vessel wasn't actually that much taller than her. "How do you feel about Dr. Sexy?"

* * *

_A/N: I apologise profusely for the delay in this update. Time has flown by and I think I am finally settled enough to get back to this more regularly. Thanks for sicking with me and I' glad you are still enjoying it! I hope you get some hints of what's to come, a bit more about what Charlie might be, and some exciting character introductions._


	18. Gabriel

"_The wound is the place where the Light enters you." _― _Rumi__._

**18\. Destiny took the long route, but it found you again.**

_**Date: Unknown.**_

_**Location: Unknown.**_

Charlie could smell popcorn and chocolate. It immediately brought up childhood memories of bringing Beth to the movies when they were younger; of buying ice cream and holding securely onto sticky fingers while trying to balance tickets, a bag of candy stuffed into a pocket, and a soda; of Beth wriggling excitedly in her seat, legs dangling and eyes fixed on the screen. After the movie, there was a six year old Beth's inevitable constant chatter as they caught the bus back home, with expressive hands and swaying feet that always kicked the seat in front (Charlie had learned sit in the first row to prevent disgruntled offense), and eyes pink from exhaustion. Beth would bounce up the porch steps, two feet at a time until she reached the top and waited for Charlie to open the door for her so she could barrel through to tell Martha all about their adventure.

Frowning away the distant memories, Charlie kept her eyes closed and tried to assess her surroundings. Her body felt heavy. Her head felt light. A little too light. It was warm, and she was sitting on something soft, but supportive. A shift of her foot made a smacking sound, her boot encountering a bit of resistance. Sticky. The floor was sticky. Straining to pick up any noise of potential danger, Charlie felt uneasy when all she could hear was the sound of her own even breathing and a small, whirring noise off in the distance. A faint, glowing, ebb and flow of colored light washed across her closed eyes. Blue. Pink. Red. Purple. Blue again.

After several minutes of waiting to see if anyone came for her, Charlie risked the effort it took to open her eyes. Everything swirled for several seconds, and then righted itself. An unfamiliar ceiling loomed above, covered in a shifting aurora of kaleidoscopic colors. The hues varied greatly, but the strength of the colored light remained constant, originating from a large screen about fifty feet wide, and twenty tall in front of her.

Oh. She actually _was_ in a movie theater.

Flicking her gaze around, she couldn't pick out any strange presences in the room with her. All the seats, red and plush, where empty. She wondered if someone was controlling the projector. It looked like an old theatre. Through the bands of color flowing from bottom to top like a reverse waterfall, static images flashed across the screen; large looming shadows of great sea creatures swimming by. If Charlie didn't have any notion that something was very strange, she would have sworn she was in some psychedelic aquarium.

_I'm getting tired of waking up in weird and unfamiliar surroundings. _With a quiet sigh, Charlie ignored the knot of nervous energy lodging itself into her veins and tried to collect her thoughts. Focusing on any one thing was difficult. Her head was muzzy, her hearing was thick and slightly tinny, her mouth was dry, and her eyes were struggling to adjust to the patterns around her.

A giant shadow blocked out a good portion of the screen temporarily. Someone at the projector. _No one did that job anymore, _Charlie thought absently. It appeared once, revealed the colors again, got in the way once more, and tripped over something with a sharp - "Dammit!" The room dimmed significantly. The image started up, flickering for a moment until black and white shapes cropped up, and numbers counted down sporadically just like an old movie reel. The edges of film moved to and fro until centered, and then a final jump, as if it was trying to tune into a channel.

Charlie frowned. Throwing out a sluggish hand to latch onto the back of the seat in front of her, she hauled herself up - only to suddenly lose strength with a veering tilt to one side.

"Whoa, there!" A hot hand grasped her arm from one side, another taking hold of a shoulder. She was tipped back into her seat with a small _whuff_ of air, head falling forward to rest her chin on her chest. A soft huff of laughter swept across her hair from above. "Easy, tiger. Had to wield some serious magic to right you even a little bit. Don't ruin it now. You were doing so well!"

Charlie closed her eyes and took a shallow breath when everything began spinning again. "Why... why do I feel ...feel this way? D'ju druug... me?" she mumbled. God, it was hard to talk. So much damn effort to form the words and push them out. There was a rustle, a tingle of something across her skin, and she slumped into his side when the arm rest disappeared between them. "Ow."

"Sorry, sweets. Slight misjudgment."

_Magic? No. No._ "No magic," she told him with a slight slur, trying and failing to get enough leverage to stop touching him. He was roasting. Boiling. Too much.

"Hmm?"

"No. Magic." _No more magic. Please. _She'd had enough magic to last millennia and more. Something curled around her far shoulder to keep her where she was. She flinched at the unexpected contact, but when it brushed across her hand it felt soft, and was several degrees lower than his body temperature. Charlie couldn't turn her head enough to see what it was.

"You were a mess, sweetheart," he tutted, shifting his shoulder under her cheek to accommodate her head comfortably. Her forehead slotted neatly against his neck. Holy Hell, his skin was ridiculously worse. Charlie squirmed, but the soft thing crowded her against him in a firm hold. "Still are, if I'm honest. But no drugs. Here."

Charlie squinted open her eyes to see a hand proffering a tub of popcorn, a packet of candy tucked inside to lean against the rim. It looked like a pack of something chocolate, and the shiny, fluffy kernels made her believe the popcorn had butter. Did he have no concept of melting confectionaries or greasy packaging? It had been a long time since she'd indulged in buttered popcorn. He shook it at her when she didn't take it immediately, and made an apologetic noise when he realized she couldn't move her arms to take it. He seemed to see the dilemma, and carefully rested it on her lap, as if that would be better. More hot things. She wanted to see his face, but he readjusted every time she tried. _Asshole_.

A sharp click of fingers and another tub – obscenely large – was produced in his hands. He put it to one side out of her sight and clicked again. A cardboard tray appeared with a feast of delights on his lap. He rifled through them until he found a bar, and immediately unwrapped it to take a large bite. Gesturing with the mauled bits of wafer and caramel left, he sounded like he'd shoved the bit of bar into one of his cheek to speak. "You'll want to pay attention. I've set up a whole show."

_Why does this kind of shit keep happening to me? _With a sigh, Charlie made an obligatory noise that she hoped sounded curious, and directed her tired gaze to the screen that now showed a lot of nurses and doctors in a frozen state.

"Lovely," he replied at her noise, his voice taking on an eager, excited tone. "They need to be taught a lesson about playing along, and what better way to show them then actually getting them to literally play along?"

Charlie had no idea what he was talking about. "What?"

He shushed her and waved a hand at the screen. The characters began to move around, weaving in and out of each other with practiced ease, but there was something off about them. They seemed a bit too... pretty? And unrealistic. Hair and make-up extreme, expressions a little too exaggerated. It was like a bad soap opera, and they hadn't even spoken yet. The camera panned down the hallway slowly, seeming to indulge the viewer in as much of the presentation of beautiful people and set as possible, before focusing on two men at the back –

Charlie inhaled sharply at the sight of them, and with a burst of shocked adrenaline, lurched forward to sit up. The tub of popcorn slid off her lap to drop onto the floor with a hollow _thwack _and upset rustle. Kernels spilled everywhere. Sam and Dean, giant and confused, were right in front of her. "They're alive?"

Charlie could see the guy shake his foot to dispel the some of the mess of kernels off his tennis shoes out of the corner of her eye. "You know them?"

"Yes."

"Oh goody! I won't need to do much explaining, then."

Charlie took them in rapidly, finding herself relieved that they looked normal and uninjured. Seven months. Seven months since she had seen any of her family. The boys looked baffled and wary, but took everything in to assess their situation. Gripping the back of the seat in front of her tightly, Charlie tried to hide how much she wanted to reach out and touch them through the screen. _Is this real? Is it a dream? Am I still in that shitty hotel in Wellington –_

_Wellington._

She turned around to view the man munching on his popcorn, the bar finished and wrapper crumpled and dumped to the side. She took in his vessel, and the celestial being underneath. His wings were displayed lazily along the row of seats. It had been one of the appendages curled around her. She suspected it was mainly for convenience, due to the entire collection of armrests being absent as far as his wings expanded, but the fuzziness surrounding her mind was starting to recede. Something clicked into place. Charlie frowned. "You're the Angel from the hotel."

He tensed in surprise, hand hovering with a kernel of popcorn near his open mouth. He only answered after putting it in, crunching on it noisily as he said, "Yup. That's me." He squinted. "Although, you really shouldn't have remembered that yet."

Charlie didn't answer. The Angel was about to keep going, but on the screen, Sam and Dean continued. His attention span having been used up, it reluctantly wandered to the brothers. After a moment, the Angel side-eyed her suspiciously, jutted his jaw, and nodded once before pointing at her. "Be right back! Don't go anywhere!" He vanished. The popcorn that had been on his lap, hung in mid air like no physical thing should, and then dropped dramatically to spill on top of the mess she'd made already.

Charlie looked around to see if he was watching her from anywhere in the room, but got distracted when a new character joined the boys. She was about to dismiss the guy when Dean shoved the man into a wall and started accusing him of not being -

_Wait. Dr. Sexy? What the hell kind if name is –_ _Oh, God, that stupid fucking TV show._

Charlie's fingers spasmed in the grip she had on the chair. Holy Hell, that was it. A TV show. They were in a TV show. _Okay. That's a start. What did the Angel say? He's teaching them a lesson?_ _Dammit, _Charlie groused. She'd spent too long with Ava and her groupies. Her brain was fried. _Think._

Dean shoved the man harder against the wall, claiming that he and Sam knew who the guy was. Suddenly, all the other characters froze, and the man morphed into the Angel. The conversation changed, pretences gone, but that wasn't what made her nervous. They boys thought he was a trickster.

She thought of Jane and her forum name. Was this Angel on her team of crazies? Where did he stand? Why was he telling them he was a trickster? _Shit, without more information, I'm just blind. _

_No. Wait. Wait wait wait. I remember coming across a trickster in those Supernatural books Chuck wrote. He was powerful, made up realities that could actually feel real, but... I see him for what he is. _

None of this made sense to her, but she had to warn the boys regardless.

With the Angel busy flaunting his pride at his show, Charlie used the opportunity to try and calm herself. Closing her eyes, she focused on dispelling whatever the Angel had done to her, just like she had with Ava's spells. _Shake it off. Disconnect it. Unravel the thread that makes it up._ It was difficult, but the Sight finally managed to push through the haze enough for her to see what looked like an exit off to the corner underneath the screen.

It took a minute to co-ordinate her body, but once she was up and moving, it was easy to just force herself through the door –

The landing was painful. Gravel scraped along her bare arms. Stones dug into her back. Something wet soaked into her t-shirt and jeans. The world was spinning, until suddenly it wasn't. She choked on the pain, hissing at the sting of grit and dirt jamming up into little crevasses to dent her skin. Slowly, Charlie shifted, allowing her weight to pull her from her side onto her back. She groaned.

A decrepit warehouse loomed over her, and the Impala sat cold to her left. _Why is it always warehouses? Jesus fucking Christ._

Ten minutes passed. Charlie sat up against the rear wheel of Dean's car and attempted to get her breath back. Once she felt better, if a little bruised and cold (how fucked up _that_ was), she struggled up, hand flat against the damp exterior of Dean's baby. She was surprised at how faint she felt, but the reflection in the window revealed her thin, pale, and sickly looking complexion.

_God, I've really let myself go. Pathetic._

"Okay, Charlie," she muttered to herself. "Time to wake up from your nightmare and do something about your life."

* * *

The warehouse door opened out onto the same show Dean and Sam had been on back in the impromptu theater. The characters were frozen and half faded, code beginning to splinter off and revert to its natural order. Ahead of her, just past the main desk, the hallway abruptly ended in darkness. All the patient rooms lead nowhere, so she ventured into the black to find herself in the remnants of a game show. The audience was absent, chairs empty and lights dim, and the host was stuck in a wide display of throwing his arm up as if to declare a winner. On closer inspection, there was foreign writing everywhere (_Japanese?_) and a weird set up of a ball on a pole. On either side were the placements for feet – oh. Ouch.

Okay. Time to keep going. Who knew where they were now.

Shaking off the slight vertigo creeping up on her, Charlie took a deep breath and marched onwards. Her body, normally used to long trips and physical altercations for Ava, was on reserves now. She didn't remember the last time she ate, and traveling through all this magic was taxing her further. She was honestly surprised she had lasted this long.

She passed through channel after channel, driving herself forward as quickly as possible until she stumbled through into - a comedy? She collapsed to her knees just as she saw the Angel clicking his fingers to send the boys away. The world around her went dark, but she was still conscious. It was like someone had just turned off the lights.

"Now, how did you get out?"

Charlie gasped at the voice by her ear. She flinched. The lights came back on, but only enough to spotlight the two of them. Silence reigned around them. She was lifted bodily to her feet by an unseen force. The Angel walked around her, but his expression was much, much darker than before.

He took in a deliberate breath of patience, ending with a mocking tilt of his head. "I'm not sure I like my actors breaking the rules." He stepped close to crowd her. Charlie tried to keep her stoic expression, alert for whatever he would do to her. "I'm waiting, pet. How did you get here?"

"I walked."

He released a laugh. "You walked."

"Yes."

"There's no way on Dad's green Earth that you just... _walked_ through all my spellwork, sweetheart." His smile was unpleasant. His wings unfurled with sharp movements as if stopping himself from striking out at her.

"How do you explain it then?"

He narrowed his eyes. "I don't like your tone." He took a hold of her neck with a gentle hand, but lifted her slowly, carefully until her feet swayed freely several inches above the floor. Charlie allowed him without any resistance, but she breathed shallowly to combat his slowly tightening grip. "How did you break my hold?"

"Magic ...doesn't seem to like ...me very much," she answered truthfully.

He frowned, eyes flicking over her face to detect any tells. "That shouldn't be possible."

Charlie pursed her lips, hand finally coming up to loosely grasp the forearm holding her. "I'm starting... to hear that kind of shit ...a lot."

His face scrunched up, and he lowered her a little bit, just enough for her toes to brush against the floor. The grip eased, and Charlie was thankful to suck in a few decent lungfuls of air. His other hand came up, and she tensed. Fuck, he was going to send her away again. _No no no no_ _**no**_ –

* * *

Charlie blinked slowly, the blurry image of her legs straight out in front of her coming into focus. A hollow dripping sound echoed around her. The damp air coated her lungs and tasted like burnt metal. The column she was slumped against seeped whatever heat was left in her from her back and ass, and something was burning nearby.

Her bones ached. Her muscles screamed. Her head was pounding.

Voices.

There were voices.

She knew those voices. Sam and Dean. Charlie had to get to them. _God please whoever is listening I don't care let me let me please -_

She bit her tongue with the effort and pain it took to fall on her side. The wet concrete soaked into her. Jeans heavy and t-shirt too thin, Charlie tried to pull herself along the rough floor. Her boots scraped loudly, but it wasn't loud enough for anyone to hear her. Throat dry and raw, she screamed internally just to _let them find me._

Another voice joined them. The Angel. And another. It was familiar, and it brought an ache to her skull. She tried to call out. She tried to push her thoughts out towards him, but the shrill ring of a fire alarm caused her lose her focus. Words and thoughts just dissipated as quickly as they would come. _What is wrong with me? Why am I so broken? Help ME HELP ME!_

The burning smell tapered off, but the harsh sound of a metal door closing sank into her gut. The voices were gone. The sprinklers were drenching everything.

And then she felt it. That familiar, dreaded tug of the compulsion spell on the cuffs around her wrists. She'd forgotten about them. God. She had _forgotten about them_.

"No," she moaned softly, hunching her back and dropping her head. "No, please. _Please_. I can't - " She choked. "I can't do this. _No_."

The fire alarm was so loud, and the urge to leave and find Ava was surging up and up and up –

A long deep, agonising breath and she _screamed_. Everything left that Charlie had in her, exploded out into one long yell of fire and pain. She screamed out her frustration at losing her life so soon. At being so wrong that she couldn't function. At how quickly her life had spiralled out of control. She cried out her naive idiocy of trusting the likes of Jane and Ava. She expelled her hatred of the women for finding her and using her. She poured out her terrible, horrific sins of murder under the guise of Satanism and worship of God.

_DON'T LEAVE ME HERE! DON'T LET ME GO BACK THERE! FIND ME! I'M HERE! I'M _HERE!

Chest heaving, she collapsed, her cheek striking the ground with a dull smack. Something cracked. A heavy metallic taste spilled over her tongue to stain her teeth. _I'm so weak my bones are breaking..._

The cuffs tightened.

Charlie squeezed her eyes shut when she felt a rift begin to open behind her –

Hot hands ripped the cuffs off so quickly, they broke the skin. A tinny sound of metal clinked away from her. Heat enveloped her back and legs and she was lifted up -

"Easy, sweetheart," came a voice. The Angel.

The alarm stopped. The sprinklers fizzled. Eyes closed, Charlie could only feel a change in the atmosphere. Felt like the threshold of a rift. A steady breeze swept across her face, but it smelled like ozone and… something she couldn't place. Like all the times before, Charlie could feel the curious presence there in the void. It found her easily, but its initial enthusiasm waned abruptly in the face of her state of being. Too weak to fight it like before, Charlie could only open her eyes slowly to view the swirling, colored aether around her. A tan colored wing snapped in and out of her vision. They were flying. Someone was carrying her, and they were flying.

Charlie smiled lazily, head tipped back and arms limp.

The enormous presence around them shrank down and down until it brushed soothingly across her skin. An apologetic caress. At least, that's what it felt like.

* * *

She slipped in and out of consciousness. She woke again when they were out, but drifted off when the Angel placed her down on a bed.

* * *

Awake again for a cloth pressed to her head. A few gentle swipes around her face and she could see the white come away red and filthy. The room tilted when she was supported for a drink. It was difficult, and she wondered briefly why he wasn't just healing her altogether.

"You need time, cupcake." He leaned into her field of vision, a heavy frown slowly taking over his features. He was supporting her from the back. Charlie quietly watched his eyes. His vessel had really unusual eyes. "Your body's been through Hell. I wouldn't say literally, but you're not far off. Don't even want to speculate your mentality."

* * *

Next time, she was a bit more aware to notice that she was clean, the bed was ridiculously soft (so much so that she had sunk into the middle and was very reluctant to move) and that they were in a two story, open-plan cabin. She was on her side. In front of her was a set of railings that led to a narrow staircase to the left, with a wide open space across the low ceiling where she could hear a tv on low, and soft laughter. She listened for a short time before slipping off again.

* * *

"Mom seemed to like you."

Charlie woke again at the fond-sounding statement. A heavy thump by the side of the bed, a click, and soft light illuminated the room and the tray of food he'd placed on the locker. She could smell it now. Chicken. Warm. And bread. Thick, white, and fluffy, just waiting to be broken up and dipped in the broth. Her stomach growled violently.

He chuckled. "Easy squeezy, darlin'. You're gonna have to take it slow. Your stomach hasn't had anything decent in a long, long time, I'd wager." He leaned into her vision and slipped a hand under her shoulders to hoist her up against a sudden pile of pillows that wasn't there a second before. Magic. Charlie watched his face carefully, having little energy to do anything else. Unusual eyes, dark hair brushed back (with a few wisps escaping over his eyes) and pointed features, she again thought of an owl. His tan wings flared to keep his balance as helped her sit up, before sliding the tray onto her lap with a flourish. He smiled, stepped back and bowed. "Your broth, my lady."

When he straightened, he winked and snapped his fingers, vanishing. Noises of dishes clinking and running water echoed up to the loft. Charlie blinked, frowned a little, and picked up an elaborate spoon covered in swirls and etchings that must have taken great care to make. Dipping it into the chicken soup, she slowly lifted it to take a sip. The hot, salty liquid was the finest thing she had ever tasted. The only thing that forced her to take her time was the lack of energy. The bread was mana straight from Heaven's Realm. Her host being an Angel, maybe that's exactly where it came from.

When she was finished, he was there immediately, removing the tray with a click and helping her to lie down. Charlie let him. When he began tucking her in, eyes focused on his hands fixing the blankets around her, Charlie reached out to touch his cheek. He froze, dark eyes flicking up to watch her. She traced his features with her fingertips for a moment, before finding a shining spot in the center of his forehead beneath the skin of his vessel. She pressed gently, wanting to see more. He gasped.

His vessel became overwhelmed with light bright enough to burn, but Charlie watched it expand until the being beneath showed himself. He stepped back as he grew until he could barely fit the room, crouched and hunched over the bed like a giant. His wings spread up and up through the ceiling, Ghost-like and stretching in languid movements.. He had no discernible face except for an angular facade that looked like a mask with eyes. He was thicker than the other one she had seen...

_Other one?_

Charlie blinked slowly, her ears ringing from the noise of his song, eyes straining to take in his shining armour and necklace.

L

Gabriel. The Archangel?

The creatures eyes crinkled, the 'mask' following suit with the force of the movements, and Charlie got the impression he was smiling at her. He jutted his chin and crooned out a strange melody from his throat that resonated right down through her skin, muscles, sinews, and bone. It rushed through her blood up into her brain where synapses fired at an alarming rate -

And Charlie suddenly _remembered_ -

_Death. Life. Wastelands. Desert. Ocean. The Wanderer. The Garden. The Mountains. The Strange Beings. Castiel. Life Again. Lost. So Lost. Compulsion. Death. Death. Death. New Life. Compulsion. Death. Death. Death. Death Death Death death dead dead they're all dead what have I done - _

The light vanished. The room returned to normal, and Gabriel was wrapped around her in his Human vessel. He was rocking back and forth, crooning a different melody. One that resonated just as heavily, but less sharply, fogging up her mind just enough to dull the pain.

"Easy, now." He sounded shaky, and his grip was just a little too tight, but Charlie needed it. She needed it because what had she done?

* * *

_A/N: Thank you for sticking with me. Hope you like this as much as I do ha! ZeB xx_


	19. Rapprochement

"_There is no mile as long the final one that leads back home." - Katherine Marsh_

**19\. Rapprochement**

_**Date: Two weeks later - Beginning of February 2010.**_

_**Location: Lawrence, Kansas - Best Inn Motel Salina.**_

Hands by her side, Charlie rubbed her fingers together to try and dispel some of the clamminess. There didn't seem to be enough air anywhere, and she had to blink a few times to dispel some of the resulting dizziness. She stared at the fading color of the door with tired, stinging eyes. The number was scuffed, but readable.

The damp night began to seep into her clothes.

_I don't know what to say._

Gabriel had been kind enough to keep healing her in slow increments over the past two weeks. Physically, that was. Mentally… well, mentally, Charlie had asked him to keep most of it at bay until she was ready. Understanding, Gabriel suggested a temporary mental block on the feelings, but not the memories associated with them. The wall would gradually start breaking down until the end of the month, and then she was on her own. He claimed to be a busy Archangel, had things to do and people to meddle with... Charlie understood. He had been kind enough as it was.

The memories were on the verge of becoming clear. _I probably have about a week left at this rate._

It was like a bad dream; a little hazy around the edges, with very little detail.

When they had parted ways a few days ago, Gabriel was ready to send her wherever she wanted to go. Charlie, at a loss as to how to deal with normal human interaction after so long on her own, chose to ask him to deposit her fairly close to Bobby's. She didn't really know where else to start. Facing Martha would be too much to handle so soon.

Since no one could find the boys (Gabriel claimed they vanished off Angel radar for some indeterminable reason), Charlie had to find an alternate way of breaking back into her own world. She had to find somewhere familiar; she decided that Bobby's was her first option, only, when she got there, she couldn't quite bring herself to knock on his door. Hell, she couldn't even cross into the damn yard. Stuffing her hands into her jean pockets, Charlie swallowed and turned away, trekking back into town to find an internet café. Unwilling to attempt to speak to Sam and Dean over the phone, she opted to send them a message via webtext in a nearby internet cafe. They answered immediately and told her where they would be. She hopped a bus as soon as she could and made her way to Kansas.

Several hours later, stomach aching, Charlie got off the bus and walked in a daze to the door of their room. She'd been standing there for ten minutes, listening to the voices on the other side. They sounded normal. Safe. With that thought in mind, Charlie could feel some of the tension ease away from her shoulders.

She licked her lips and knocked.

"What the hell?" Dean grunted loudly.

"Does someone know you're here?"

Charlie closed her eyes. Castiel. He was in there. He was alive. _I think I called out to you, _she thought, trying not to direct her thoughts at him too much. It was like a tug of war; part of her wanted him to hear her, but another part wondered if he was capable. He hadn't answered before. _Did you hear me? Could you? I wanted you to find me._

There was a sudden feeling that she'd never come across before. A burst of color appeared behind her eyelids, and then a faint hum vibrated along her skin just as an image fluttered across her mind.

_She was on a beach, the ocean calm, and Castiel a small speck in the distance. He was calling to her, but she couldn't hear him so far away - _

Charlie opened her eyes to find herself still staring at the door.

"Only Charlie, Cas, but she's not due yet. She told us another couple of hours, at least. It's probably nothing." Sam's voice was the closer of the three, and he was the one to open the door with an expectant, polite expression (as if he expected to be bothered by room service in this crappy place), before it fell in disbelief at the sight of her. He stood there for a moment in silence. Charlie swallowed, rubbing a hand along her dark coat, distracted.

"I sort of lied about the time," she said softly, glancing away at nothing in particular. "Sorry."

"Sammy, who the hell is it?" came Dean's impatient grumble.

Sam seemed to snap out of it and swung the door wide to give him space to pull her into a hard embrace. Charlie grunted at the impact, but instantly wrapped her arms around him. There was no more lingering fear of what the darkness would do to her. There was just Sam and heat, familiarity and safety.

She was suddenly jerked backwards and turned; her face was mushed into another chest. "Jesus Christ, Charlie," Dean said roughly, a hot puff of his breath disturbing her hair.

Charlie let out a shaky breath, squeezing her eyes so tightly she thought they might be forced into the back of her head. Her fingers grabbed handfuls of the back of his shirt, and he hugged her harder.

"You came at one helluva time, Charlie," Dean said, "but we're glad you're here."

Charlie released her white-knuckled grip and stepped back. Dean let her. A hand landed on her shoulder and rubbed gently. Charlie turned to find Sam assessing her with a concerned look. "What happened to you?"

Self consciously straightening her coat to hide her too thin body, Charlie shook her head and looked to the floor. "Long story. Don't think I'm ready to tell it, yet."

"We're running out of time," Cas said from across the room. Charlie stepped back from the boys, and stared at the Angel. He looked a little haggard, his wings dull and mussed. He seemed reluctant to have broken the silence with their more pressing matter, but it seemed to be important by the presence of differing spell items laid out on the small table beside him. He spared her a glance. Charlie felt the same sensation and spark of color, but it vanished so quickly she thought she might have imagined it. Unsure, Charlie kept silent.

"Can you bring her, Cas?" Sam asked.

Cas immediately reined himself in, mouth tight. Charlie stepped forward quickly. "It's fine. There's no need. Do whatever you need to do. I'll wait here – "

"Like Hell you'll wait," Dean rebuked. "You just got here, Charlie. No way are we letting you stay here on your own while we –"

"Dean, calm down," Sam said. He held out a placating hand at Dean's dark frown.

They held a look between them that Charlie couldn't interpret, before Dean shook his head. "I'm not leaving her here, Sammy." He looked at Cas. "C'mon Cas. I know it'll be hard, but we don't wanna leave her on her own here."

The Angel's jaw ticked, and he huffed out a noise of frustration. "Why must you make such demands of me? I'll bring her, but it will weaken me severely. I may not be of use when we get there."

"Weaken?" Charlie asked, watching them more closely. "Why would you weaken?"

Cas refused to look at her.

"Well let's get going," Dean said determinedly, as if Charlie and Cas hadn't said a word. He moved to get his jacket and bag. So did Sam. The Angel pursed his lips, but eventually he spun around to collect his own bag from the floor. He carefully packed several items - items that Charlie had never seen before - and his Angel blade.

Charlie crossed her arms. "No one's answered my question. I would appreciate some info before – "

Cas faced them. "Ready?"

"Not really," Sam murmured, shouldering his bag.

"Bend your knees," Dean warned.

"Stop!" They jerked in surprise, whipping their heads to Charlie. She dropped her hand that she'd automatically threw up to stall them, and scowled. "I've had a really bad, really long_, long _ass time, and I came here to see you, and you're telling me that none of you are willing to let me know what's going on? Even briefly? Don't be assholes."

Dean winced and didn't meet her gaze, and Castiel just regarded her intensely, his expression closed off but watchful. Sam sighed at their lack of response and cleared his throat to speak. "Uh. Short version? Anna's gone back in time to kill our parents to stop us being born, and Cas is going to transport us there to stop her. He's been cut off from Heaven because he helped you and Dean escape from that waiting room place, so it's gonna be tough on him making this trip." He cleared his throat again, eyebrows twitching up and together in worry. "That ok for now?"

Charlie blinked, mulled on it for a minute, and then decided it would have to do until they could explain further at a later time. "I think we need to have a serious talk when this is over." She looked at Castiel. "This will hurt you?"

"It will impair my abilities," he corrected, stone faced. Charlie didn't like his attitude.

She sighed. "I don't think bringing me is a good idea. I'll wait here."

"No, Charlie –"

"Charlie – "

"It is fine," Castiel snapped, glaring at Sam and Dean. "We don't have much time. Hold onto me, Charlie."

Raising an eyebrow in response to his sharp order, Charlie reluctantly stepped closer to grasp the back of his coat, while he lifted his other hand, index and middle fingers pressed together, to touch the boy's foreheads.

* * *

The journey was surprisingly smooth. Charlie only glimpsed the void opening behind to swallow them, a brief, sparking caress to her cheek from the thing within the void, and then she was awkwardly trying to hold Cas when he collapsed against a car. They went down onto the wet sidewalk, Charlie banging her elbow on the car and her knee on the sidewalk.

She hissed, but focused on keeping Cas upright. "Fuck. Castiel."

He grunted, a rivulet of blood stemming from his nose. On the other side of the car they were slumped against, a horn sounded, along with disgruntled voices and screeching tires. After a moment where Cas just frowned, eyes distant and unresponsive to Charlie's inquiries, Sam and Dean appeared.

"Cas! Hey!" Dean said firmly, crouching low to check on the Angel. "You alright? What happened, Charlie?"

Charlie blinked, frowning. She opened her mouth to respond, but struggled to come up with anything except, "He collapsed."

Cas came back to himself a little bit. "I'm fine," he growled. "I'm much better than I expected – " He suddenly surged into Charlie's arms, coughed up a dark stream of blood over her shoulder to the sidewalk, and passed out. The weight of him was unexpected, but Dean quickly grabbed his lapels, Sam rushing to check if he was breathing with a hand cupped near his mouth. Charlie, alarmed that this could happen to an Angel, just mutely held him while Sam and Dean figured out what to do.

* * *

_**Date: Unknown**_

_**Location: The Prairie Court Motel**_

Dean and Sam carried Cas between them like sober friends walking their drunk one home. Charlie walked ahead of them to keep people clear, trying to put on a 'what-are-ya-gonna-do' expression in the hopes that people thought there was an amusing story to be told. Charlie thought that it had to be unusual enough, carting around a passed out guy in the middle of the day.

When they got to the nearest motel, Dean had Charlie help him bring Cas inside while Sam looked for clues about their parents in a public phonebook by the entrance. Thankfully, Dean took most of the Angel's weight. The man at the desk didn't seem to give one whit about what they were up to. Dean negotiated a five night stay in the honeymoon suite (he gave a nod and a wink towards Cas and Charlie as if to clue him in) and then they heaved him towards it once they got a key.

Despite his effort to be gentle, Dean tossed Cas unceremoniously onto the bed. Charlie went to the bathroom to get some towels to clean him up. When she came back out, Dean had arranged Cas in the middle of the bed with his legs hanging off the end. Wings pressed under him at bad angles, tie askew, and an arm over his stomach, Cas looked very much like the passed out drunk they had claimed him to be. Except for the blood around his mouth, and the pale, tired look on his face.

Dean hesitated. "Will you be alright lookin' after him, Charlie?"

Charlie sighed. "No other choice, really. I don't think I'll be much help to you, and he can't stay here by himself like this."

Dean nodded. He strode over to her, gave her a quick, tight hug, and then strode to the door. "I'll get the room number to call you on my way out."

"Alright."

With a small wave, he left.

Charlie looked back over at Cas and winced in sympathy. He was a mess.

Charlie closed her eyes for a minute, maybe two, and opened them again with a soft sigh. Not knowing where to begin, she crossed the room and locked the door. Next she looked for a smaller towel than the one she had found in the bathroom. Locating a soft white one in the closet on the top shelf, she ventured back into the bathroom to wet it in the sink. Once soaking, she wrung it as much as she was able, and brought it out to set it aside on the locker.

Unwilling to remove her shoes when she spotted several questionable stains on the carpet, Charlie stared at Castiel from the end of the bed and contemplated the best way to get on it to maneuver him up the mattress so she could clean him up. Angel or not, she couldn't let him lie in that position for however long they would be there.

"Ok. Well, let's try this, then."

She straddled his legs at the end of the bed, feet planted on the floor, and fisted the lapels of his suit jacket and coat, hauling him up so he rested against her –

"I didn't really think that one through," she said to herself, glancing down at Cas' dark head against her chest. She sighed again. "Well, you're up now. Might as well keep going."

Carefully trying to keep him upright, she put one foot on the bed, and then the other so she stood bent over behind him, and reached her hands and arms over his wings, but under his arms, and braced against the awful mattress. With a few heaves, and a few near misses with stepping on the feathers, Charlie managed to get him high up enough so his feet didn't hang off the end. Stuffing a pillow under his head, Charlie realized her dilemma very quickly. She had trapped herself at the head of the bed, feet either side of Cas' shoulders, unable to find an easy way to get over his wings stretched out along the width. They were so large the majority of them draped over the sides.

With a frustrated growl at herself, Charlie shook her head and bent once more to grab hold of a wing to lift it and –

_Oh._

It was a lot lighter than she imagined it would be, limp as it was with him unconscious. And a little on the rough side, but upon closer inspection, the feathers just looked untidy and in a poor state. Gabriel's had been soft, and she had watched him groom them once, in the small hours of the morning when she couldn't sleep. He hadn't used magic or Grace, and when she'd softly enquired why from the vicinity of the bottom step that lead to her bed up in the loft, Gabriel had explained that Angels didn't like using anything like that for looking after their wings.

"When we were first brought into existence, we were little more than blank slates looking for direction. Dad gave us a basic template to start with, but while we idled around waiting for him to finish everything he needed to with all of us - creation, nature, etcetera - we learned that grooming created bonds and made us feel safer." He got a distant look in his eyes. "We didn't know much about anything, really. We were just kids." He focused on her. "I kinda miss my bros for the grooming. We had a good trust built up, and there was nothing like coming home after battle, telling the tale over and over while your bro helped fix you up."

Careful not to make them worse, Charlie stepped gently around Cas to get off the bed. Releasing the wing, she could only watch it unfold more with the weight of gravity to hang down the side of the mattress to brush the floor. It felt wrong to be touching him this way, when he was unconscious and not in control, but she had little choice if she was to look after him over the next few days.

Stripping off her jacket, she lay it over the back of the single plastic chair by the dresser and took up the small damp towel. She contemplated him sprawled out on the bed while she wiped her own hands clean. It had been roughly eight months since she had seen him last. He looked different. Duller. His Grace was small and concentrated around the centre of his chest, reaching out occasionally in long tendrils of light, as if feeling for something outside its reach. Even his hair was no longer as wild. _Looks like you've had a rough ride, _she thought. _What was it Sam said? You're cut off from Heaven? _Charlie bit her lip. _It's beginning to show, as cruel as that sounds._

Refolding the towel to distract herself a little, she began to speak out loud. "Sorry, Cas. I need to get you washed up. You have blood all over your face and hands." Charlie huffed a small laugh. "I'm sure you already know that, though. I think I'm just saying it to let you know what I'm going to do." Running a damp hand through her hair - the short style was starting to grow on her a little - Charlie moved to one side of the bed and found herself stuck again with a wing problem. In order to sit next to him, she would have to rearrange his arms and wing out of the way. She sighed. "I don't know how aware you are in there," she said, wondering if he had retreated deeper into Jimmy's body to heal, "but I'm going to have to touch your wings if I'm going to get anywhere with this, and I don't like doing that without your permission. Gabriel told me it was a thing for Angels; touching these parts of you is a deeply personal thing." She bent to move his right wing but stopped, hands flexing before she could even get to the feathers. She cleared her throat, glancing up to find his face still neutral, as if he had just fallen asleep. "Also, it's probably a bit late to tell you I can see them, right?" She grimaced. "Probably."

She smoothed her hand underneath the black appendage, palming the largest curve and gently encouraging it to follow its natural movement to fold in towards his body. It did so with ease until it couldn't go any further without him doing it himself, or shoving him over for more room. Charlie was forced to sit quickly and allow it to rest against her hip. Taking the towel from the bedside locker where she'd left it, she leaned over him to wipe it over his nose and mouth to clean away the blood -

"_No! God, please, no!"_

"_I'm sorry," Charlie repeated, over, and over, and over. Hot tears streamed down her face and neck, her stomach roiled at the slick, hot feeling of the blood that dripped off her hands and forearms. "I'm sorry."_

Charlie recoiled in horror, stumbling to her feet and dropping the towel to the floor. Castiel's wing unfurled with a soft whisper, and Charlie felt the bile rise in her throat at the sight of it. She'd been cleaning an Angel. Her. The abomination that had been Ramiel.

"Oh God," she murmured, turning to rush to the bathroom. Bent low over the toilet, Charlie heaved hard enough to pull a muscle in her lower back. The pain was a welcome addition to the burn of bile at the back of her throat and she clenched her eyes tight to block out what she'd seen.

_No. What I remember._

After a few minutes, the memory faded a little, but Charlie knew it was only the beginning.

* * *

Charlie couldn't bring herself to touch him again, so she grabbed her coat and went out in the hopes of a distraction for an hour or two. Pale, mouth tasting like something died in it, and carefully watching anyone around her, Charlie made her way to the nearest grocery store. Automatically grabbing a basket by the door with a harsh wince at the pull in her back, she ignored the strange looks she was getting from some of the other patrons, and wandered around the isles. She hoped they would just think she was high or something, or coming down from a trip. It was the seventies, after all.

She picked up the little things she would need for the next few days. Toothpaste and toothbrush, shower gel and shampoo, deodorant, snacks, water, and some cheap t-shirts, socks, and underwear for spares. Painkillers were last one her list; the strongest she could get over the counter.

She'd never seen Cas in anything other than his suit and trenchcoat, so she figured he didn't need the same things she did.

Hopefully.

It wasn't until Charlie got to the check-out that she realised she might not have enough money. Luckily, money in this decade stretched a lot further than in her time, and she was out the door in less than an hour.

_Shit. I thought I would be longer._

Arms loaded with a paper bag of necessities, Charlie slowly made her way back to the motel.

* * *

Munching on a protein bar with little enthusiasm after popping some painkillers, Charlie grabbed a pillow from the bed and sat on the floor against the wall. She had a good view of the door in case Anna decided to track them down for any reason, and it kept her distance from the unconscious celestial being on the bed. A brief glance when she had arrived back with the groceries confirmed he hadn't moved an inch, so Charlie felt a bit more at ease considering her state of mind when she had left. Maybe he wasn't aware. Maybe he couldn't tell that she'd run away from him because of -

_Stop. _

She sat for a while, trying her best to meditate in preparation for the coming days.

* * *

A few hours later, meditation having calmed her slightly, Charlie absently brushed her teeth while surreptitiously staring out a gap she had made in the curtains. The sky was darkening, winding down to night, and people were still about. Local bars were beginning to fill with folks looking for a regular night out, employees closed up shops, and others made their way, presumably, home. Charlie sighed, exhausted. When the street lights came on, she turned away and went back to the bathroom to spit and rinse.

When she finished, she strode out and glanced at Cas one more time. Still hadn't moved.

Unwilling to attempt the small space left on the bed - Charlie would still have to move his wings to make the space available - she sat on the pillow from earlier and leaned against the wall. There were worse places to sleep, even if the floor was questionable. Throwing her coat over her shoulders, she brought her knees up in the hopes they'd help keep her upright by position alone, Charlie closed her eyes.

_The sand was smooth, the ocean having washed away any previous footsteps. Charlie frowned, looking down to find her own shoes sinking with her weight; deep footprints of one who had stood for hours watching the water before her._

_There was a sudden breeze, strong enough to kick up a bit of the dryer sand further inland. Charlie scrunched her eyes against it, holding up a hand to fend it off. She inhaled a familiar scent that didn't match the scene around her. Rain. She glanced up to find thick, rolling clouds, threatening to drop a deluge, but this scent was stronger than the weather allowed for. _

_The breeze came again, but Charlie was ready for it, curling her arm around one side of her face. Eyes squinted, she spotted a flash of black and blue and snapped her hand out to catch it._

_It was a feather. Black, but with hues of an oil slick rainbow._

_Castiel._

_The breeze faded, and Charlie looked for its origin to her right, and found a small figure in the distance with dark, enormous wings. She could just about make out the movement of his hands to cup them around his mouth so he could shout to her. She heard nothing but the ocean._

_She began to walk towards him, but the sand grew wetter, deeper, more clingy. Charlie clutched the feather in a tight grip and forged on, her feet making slow progress with each sucking step._

_She didn't seem to be getting closer - except he cupped his hands again and called to her, and she heard it, faintly, but it was there. He was calling out to her._

_Something seized her leg, before a piercing pain stabbed her calf. Charlie screamed, falling to the wet sand - _

_Only it wasn't seawater. It was blood. The beach was soaked in blood, and the ocean just kept lapping at the shore, adding to it in soft, constant waves. It soaked into her skin, but Charlie couldn't focus on the horror of it, for there was another attached to her leg._

_A thin hand, skin split and worn, attached to a thin wrist and bony forearm, leading up to a too round shoulder and prominent collar bones. Above it all, was a face, skin stretched tight over the hollows and dips of a skull, eyes red rimmed and tortured._

_Charlie could only look at the familiar visage with dawning terror. It was herself. In the other hand, the copy of herself held a dagger, with which she had stabbed Charlie. "You cannot escape so easily, Charlie. You have work to do."_

_The thing began to drag her down into the sand from whence it came, and Charlie turned on time to see Castiel's horrified face._

"_Cas!"_

_It was too late. The ground came up and swallowed her._

* * *

_A/N: Thank you for sticking with me. I have reached the end of pre-written chapters. So bear with me as I continue! _

_ZeB xx_


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